Exitus Acta Probat
by JellyBellys
Summary: After a series of catastrophic events, Hermione decides to go to the past to stop Tom Riddle. Story includes timetravel, no time turners! Slytherins that aren't evil, romance, betrayal, death, angst, and some comedy thrown in.
1. Default Chapter

Prologue           

            She had changed.  There was no getting around the fact that Hermione just wasn't the same person she used to be.  The only ones really aware of the new, bitter Hermione were Professor Remus J. Lupin, newly instated Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Hermione's best friend, Harry Potter, also known (to his intense annoyance,) as The-Boy-Who-Lived.  Everyone else saw Hermione as the brave, 

clever, righteous bookworm she had always been.  It was necessary to maintain this image as the formidable Ms.Granger was viewed as a pillar of strength, an inspiration, and a savior to the wizarding community.  The wizarding community needed a sense of stability more than ever, perhaps more even than the time of Voldemort's first reign of terror.  Then at least, they had Dumbledore.  Now there was no one that the Dark Lord feared, and 

along with his ever-expanding ranks of Death Eaters he committed bolder and more atrocious acts than ever.  It was living under these conditions that had caused the changes in Hermione.  

After the whole Department of Mysteries fiasco, which simultaneously caused the Ministry to announce Voldemort's return, (they were a tad slow on the uptake,) inform Harry of his "It's-him--or-me" destiny with Voldemort, and brought about the death of Harry's beloved godfather, Sirius Black, Harry had returned more bitter and disenchanted with life than ever, to Number Four, Privet Drive.  This had been over four months ago, and now Harry actually looked back with a sense of fondness at life with the Dursleys.  Two weeks into holiday, during the early afternoon of July the 11th, there had been a mass attack by the Death Eaters.

Split into two separate factions of forty, one led by the abominable Lucius Malfoy, (who had broken out of Azkaban the day before along with the other imprisoned Death Eaters,) the other led by the insane but deadly Bellatrix Lestrange, they effectively demolished St. Mungo's, leaving behind only one survivor and a crater-like hole.  Bellatrix effectively attacked the Ministry, using a new, deadly poison that Voldemort had developed, 'Ango.'  It was in gas form, a purple cloud that upon inhaling the fumes the unfortunate victim would keel over dead, blue in the face and clawing at their own throat, in less than a minute. 

While Lucius had orders to annihilate St. Mungo's, Bellatrix was responsible for keeping the Ministry intact, sans employees.  This way, once clear, Voldemort would apparate in and steal weapons, spells, wands, potions, and anything else that would help him gain power.  The plan had gone off without a hitch, as the Death Eaters, complete with new gas masks, (Voldemort failed to mention that this was a Muggle device,) stormed the building and started looting.  However, as Voldemort apparated into the Ministry, he was greeted by Dumbledore, and in his abject fear of the twinkling headmaster, gathered up his minions and apparated away.  There were a few survivors at the Ministry, those who had managed to stumble out of the building before the gas had taken effect, and also those who had not yet come into work.   Mr. Weasley was not one of the survivors.  Fudge, Umbridge, Madam Bones, and almost every single auror were dead.  Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, Sturgis Podmore, Amos Diggory, and Percy Weasley survived, and they did so only because they were at a meeting of The Order of the Phoenix at the time.

Gilderoy Lockhart, (former professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and 5 time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award) oddly enough, was the only survivor of St. Mungo's attack.  Dumbledore, who had arrived at the scene after the Death Eaters had already apparated away, had originally thought all dead, until the sun came out from behind a cloud and reflecting upon something buried in the crater, cast a blinding flash of light into his eyes.  Upon inspection, he discovered Lockhart buried under a pile of rubble, unhurt and covered in dirt, except for two gleaming rows of disturbingly white teeth.  

The destruction of the Ministry and St. Mungo's was a devastating loss to the wizarding world of Britain, leaving its inhabitants with no working government and no medical aid.  

It was around this time that the sudden and mysterious disappearance of Ginny Weasley occurred.  In fact, she wasn't even on her mother's clock anymore, as her arrow had spun in rapid circles than snapped off completely.  As there was no ransom note, and no clues at all as to what had happened, the remaining Weasleys were even more upset by this than by Mr. Weasley's death.

Owls had gone out to all of the new and returning Hogwarts students, announcing the usual booklists, prefect badges, and the reminder to journey to platform 9 and 3/4 on September the first. Dumbledore was eager to return the stabilizing force of school into his students' lives.

Hermione had picked up Harry on her way to Diagon Alley with her parents for back-to-school shopping, and strangely enough, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had quite taken to the Grangers. (Unfortunately for Hermione, Dudley seemed quite taken with her as well.)  This might have had to do with the fact that not only were the Grangers muggles, but had arrived in a brand new, silver BMW, much to Uncle Vernon's approval.   

Hermione and Harry were going to spend the last week of the summer holidays at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place with Professor Lupin, who was returning to teach DADA that year, and possibly the Weasleys.  They were still at the Burrow, mourning Mr. Weasley and Ginny, and hadn't decided yet.

Professor Lupin, the Grangers, and Harry spent a somewhat relaxing (and healing,) day in Diagon Alley and Harry cracked his first smile in months, when, while gorging themselves at an outdoor table at Florean Fortesque's, Professor Lupin, with the up most sincerity, informed Harry and Hermione that since Halloween fell on a full moon this year, he was planning on going Trick-or-Treating dressed as a werewolf, as he already had the costume, and would they like the chocolate he collected, as he was allergic?  At which point Harry actually smiled, Hermione broke into hysterical laughter, and the Grangers smiled in polite bewilderment.  As Hermione thought that the day actually seemed to be going quite well, it was at this point that irony, (the little bastard,) stepped in and bitch slapped her.  A loud cracking noise rang out, and the entire force of eighty-some Death Eaters, surrounding their leader in a ring, apparated into the crowded street. 

Predictably, shrill screams, people blindly running in all directions, and cries for help rang out immediately.  The Death Eaters were throwing curses everywhere, and they were almost all casting the Killing Curse.  In the first 5 seconds, 20 people fell dead.  At this point everything began to slow down for Hermione.  Time was acting crazy, first seeming to almost stop, then flying by a rush of noise, color, and curses.  She dimly registered that Professor Lupin had leaped up, whipped out his wand, and was furiously casting spells at the nearest Death Eaters.  A blur to the right of her peripheral vision was Harry lunging after Professor Lupin with his own wand out, a frightening look of rage and recklessness on his face.  Her mother fell to ground after she had leapt up as well, as a green light hit her in the chest.  Her father hurried to her mother, but Hermione, still in her dreamlike trance, vaguely noticed she had somehow moved thirty feet in a space of two seconds, and was currently casting her own "Avada Kedavras" left and right at any Death Eater unlucky enough to be in her vicinity.  So focused (yet weirdly oblivious,) was she, that she barely noticed the sudden "Pops" indicating that the Order and the entire staff of Hogwarts had arrived.  

She was never to clearly remember what happened next, but as far as she could tell, Harry was running straight at Voldemort, through ranks of Death Eaters, bellowing incoherently in his rage.  She turned in horrified fascination, as Dumbledore screamed at Harry to stop, then apparated between Harry and Voldemort to take on the Dark Lord himself.  This act snapped both Harry and Hermione out of their foolish behavior and to their senses.  Well, for a good second at least.  As if things weren't bad enough, the entire Weasley clan apparated right in front of Harry, in the midst of the Death Eaters.  Hermione screamed bloody murder when she saw the vastly outnumbered and surrounded Weasleys bravely pull out their wands and plunge into battle.  Hermione leapt over a corpse of a Death Eater she had killed (she found out later it was Rabastan Lestrange,) and sprung toward Harry and Ron, who were now battling side by side.  In nightmarish slow motions, she saw Mrs Weasley fall. Dedalus Diggle fall.  Elphias Doge fall.  Tonks fall.  Moody fall.  Emmeline Vance fall.  Professor Sprout fall.  Hestia Jones fall. Professors Vector and Sinistra fall.  Bill fall. Madam Hooch fall.  Charlie fall.  Then she was suddenly next to Harry and Ron, the former who gave her a grim smile, the latter who grinned and yelled, 

"What took you so long? Re-reading Hogwarts, a History, were you?"

It was the last thing Ron ever said.  She was about to scathingly reply to his horrendously inappropriate comment when she saw his eyes widen, as he looked to a spot above her head, and suddenly threw himself at her.  She fell to the ground, her ears ringing with the cry of, 

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" in an all-too-familiar voice.  

Ron fell next to her with a thud, and as she looked over at him she registered his blank staring eyes and slightly opened mouth.  She spun around, a hatred and fury rising that she was not aware she was capable of, and met cold, empty gray eyes and platinum hair.  

"Well, Mudblood, he died for you, a blood traitor to the end.  Arthur would be proud." Lucius Malfoy drawled, "And now, perhaps we will play a bit before I kill you.  You have become..." and here he paused, raked her body with his eyes, and leered at her, "quite attractive for such filth, and my wife doesn't please me as she ought to anymore.  EXPELLIARMUS!" and as her wand flew out of her hand, she heard a yell of 

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" once more.

Malfoy, eyes wide open in shock, fell to the ground in a heap and Hermione whipped her head around so fast her neck cracked, and saw Percy Weasley.  His normally pompous, smug manner had utterly vanished, and he too had a disturbing gleam of rage in his eyes.  There was no time for thanks, however, as the reason for Harry's sudden absence became clear; he was dueling with Avery Nott.  Hermione and Percy simultaneously 

shrieked the death cry, and two jets of green light hit Nott in the back.  Harry hollered his thanks to them, and all three rushed off in different directions to face new opponents.  Hermione tripped over a prone body and sprawled onto her stomach, knocking the wind out of herself.  With a jolt of horror, she looked down and met the empty gaze of Angelina Johnson, who had apparently run out of the nearby Gladrags and joined in the fray.  Here on her stomach, gasping for air, struggling not to vomit, is where she witnessed Voldemort kill Dumbledore.  Professor McGonagall flew at him in her fury, and fell dead as well.  

With Dumbledore and McGonagall out of the way, Voldemort turned his sight to that constant splinter in his side, The-Boy-Who-Lived-And-Lived-And-Lived-And-Goddamnit-Why-Couldn't-He-Just-Fucking-Die-Already!?! (Usually, at this point, a Death Eater would rush over and place a paper bag on the head of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named until he stopped hyperventilating.)  As his red, snake-like eyes narrowed and his lips curved in a shark-like grin, Harry sprung towards Voldemort with a shark-like grin of his own.  Hermione, still sprawled among bodies piled helter-skelter in the street, saw that Voldemort was a half-second quicker than Harry, and that half-second was fatal.  Her body was unable to work, her brain was frozen, if she could vocalize her thoughts, it would sound like, "Whaaaaaaa...?"

There was no one there to save Harry this time, as Voldemort swished his wand, yelling the Killing Curse.  No Dumbledore, no Lily, no McGonagall, no Sirius, no Lupin, no Ron, and she had failed Harry as well.  No one had his back, no one stood between the Dark Lord and the savior of the wizarding world except a strangely silent Wormtail.  Hermione, whose brain had now moved on to "Eh...?"saw the burst of green light traveling 

towards her best (and only,) friend, and hitting-----hitting _Wormtail_?! The ever reviled Wormtail, it seemed, had finally had his conscience kick in .  With a panicked cry, he had flung himself in front of Harry, so much like Ron had jumped in Hermione's place, for death.  Voldemort let out a horrible, blood-curdling, cringe-inducing, skin-crawling screech of rage.  Harry, for his part, was suffering from goggling fish syndrome.

It was then that Voldemort glanced around at his Death Eaters, who were quickly being outnumbered five to one as more and more people ran to the aid of the Light.  He apparated away instantly, but not before Hermione saw him touch the Dark Mark on a nearby corpse of a Death Eater, point his wand skywards, cry 

"MORSMORDRE!" and disappear.

As the Dark Mark shot into the sky overhead, the remaining death eaters apparated with a loud series of "cracks" after their master.

Lying among her friends, classmates, teachers and enemies in the green glow of the Dark Mark, staring at a Harry who seemed on the verge of going completely insane, is when Hermione's brain jump started into action, and she first thought of her plan.


	2. Bickering and Snickering

**Ch 1 Bickering and Snickering**

"Does anyone disagree with the final model of the memorial?" rang out the perpetually wearied voice of Professor Remus J. Lupin, newly instated headmaster of Hogwarts.

"For God's sake, Lupin," snapped the perpetually annoyed voice of Professor Severus Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts, "the bloody memorial is the least of our concerns!"

As Snape and Lupin got into the sixth row of the meeting, Hermione yawned and dropped her head on her left hand, tuning out the ever-rising voices. When she caught Harry's gaze, who was sitting slumped back in a chair next to her, he rolled his eyes and jerked his head at Mr. and Mrs. Bickerson. Hermione nodded in assent, and Harry mimed shooting himself in the head with a gun. While Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her sudden need to loudly snort laughter, her eyes drifted around the room.

They were currently in a meeting of the (sadly diminished,) Order of the Phoenix. Lupin had been elected Headmaster due to the fact that 1. Almost all of the professors were dead 2. The public now looked at him as a heroic figure after the Diagon Alley massacre 3.Snape's cover had been blown when he had fought against the Death Eaters in Diagon Alley, and could now no longer leave campus without imminent death awaiting him.

Hogwarts had opened its doors as usual this September, when it had come to light that Dumbledore had cast a number of immensely complicated protecting spells on not only the school, but the Hogwarts Express, Platform 9 3/4, and the nearby Hogsmeade shortly before his death. It was a spell of his own design, a take-off on the Fidelius charm, known as the Munimentum charm. It involved placing not a secret, but the protection of the school itself in the care of a person. The charm could only be broken if the person holding it was killed. Best of all, the charm could be placed on many people, but only if all were killed would it fail. Dumbledore had placed the charm in a number of odd places, only known to himself, Snape, and Lupin. Even the people the charm was cast upon were not aware of the identities of the other recipients. Harry and Hermione had a few shrewd ideas of who they were, (such as Dobby, Aragog, and Moaning Myrtle,) but even they did not know.

As the Death Eaters had wiped out the Ministry, St. Mungos, and half of Diagon Alley, Hogwarts had become a safe haven for students past and present. Wizarding families from all over were pouring into Hogsmeade, building houses and even large apartment complexes, (a Muggle idea recommended by Hermione. ) Even the muggle families of some muggle-borns had moved in for their own safety. Hermione's own father had moved into Hogsmeade, and just started a dental business.

Oliver Wood, Quidditch star forced into temporary retirement, had taken over for Hooch. Viktor Krum, also an involuntarily retired Quidditch star, was teaching Defense against the Dark Arts, as Professor Lupin was busy full-time with order business as well as headmaster duties.

A sharp pain in her shin brought Hermione back to the present. She gave a suspiciously innocent looking Harry a dirty look, and pretended to be listening to Lupin and Snape, (who had now progressed to wildly gesticulating hands, flamboyant overreactions, and loud sarcasm,) as she glanced around Dumbledore's old office at the other members of the Order sitting around a large rectangular table. Hermione, Harry, and the twins had been allowed to join, (as it was quite ridiculous to insist on sheltering them after the events of Diagon Alley.) Percy was also there; he had luckily made up with the other Weasleys a week or so before the Ministry had been attacked, and had proved a valuable asset, in his anal perfectionism. Mundungus Fletcher, Arabella Figg, Hagrid, Sturgis Podmore, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were there as well. Those five, along with Lupin and Snape, were the only remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix's second membership. There were ten others there, bringing the grand total up to a measly twenty-two, all new recruits. Wood and Krum were there, sitting next to Professor Trelawney in all her be-dangled, mystical glory, elderly Griselda Marchbanks, Neville's grandmother Longbottom, Ludo Bagman, (who had finally shaken off the goblins and re-paid his debts,) Amos Diggory and his wife, and shockingly enough, former Slytherins Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint.

Flint and Pucey were the newest members of the Order of the Phoenix, and were filling in for Snape's former duty as a double agent, Death Eater and spy for the order. Unlike Snape, both had come to the order before becoming Death Eaters, and were subsequently talked into the duplicitous, highly dangerous job. Neither had been too keen at first on accepting, as they had come to the order to escape the pressure from their families to receive the dark mark in the first place. Lupin and Snape had persuaded them eventually, however, and they were now invaluable sources of information. While Hermione, Harry, Percy, Fred, George, and Oliver had never been particularly fond of Marcus and Adrian, (they had both been former star Chasers for the Slytherin Quidditch team,) the animosity between them had gradually lessened as of late out of a grudging sense of respect for the Slytherins' bravery. Flint and Wood had even held a long conversation about Quidditch tactics the other day that had been civil, almost bordering on friendly, until a screaming row had developed over the importance of Beaters vs. The importance of Keepers.

Flint and Pucey were both in the lower ranks of Death Eaters, as they were newer members, so while they were not expected to do as heinous tasks as Voldemort's inner circle, they also received far less important information. Currently, Snape was scheming up ways that they could move up through the Dark Lord's followers. His list looked a little something like:

**TOP TEN WAYS TO PLEASE THE DARK LORD**

1. Foot massage

2. Be willing to endure torture

3. Make fun of Harry Potter a lot

4. Constantly talk about how he defeated Dumbledore

(Refer to Dumbledore as "crooked-nosed, Muggle-loving old fool" )

5. Never, ever, EVER refer to the Dark Lord as Tom Riddle

6. Pretend you don't know he's a half-blood

7. Spend ridiculous amounts of time on your hair (it's up to you whether you want to spend this time making your hair beautiful or disgusting)

8. Cower, whimper, cringe, and beg a lot

9. Whatever you do, don't let on to how repulsive you find him

10. Compliments, compliments, compliments!

Examples:

"My Lord, your eyes look particularly terrifying today!"

"Master, forgive me! I did not see you there! I mistook you for Brad Pitt!"

"No one can make me feel the Cruciatus like you can, My Lord."

It helped that a large portion of Death Eaters had been taken out last month in Diagon Alley, including such key figures as Rabastan Lestrange, Avery Nott, Lucius Malfoy, and Wormtail. The toxic Bellatrix Lestrange remained second-in-command to Voldemort, she had apparated away unscathed after the Diagon Alley fight. Hermione, Lupin, Harry, and the three remaining Weasleys were after her blood almost as much as they wanted Voldemort dead, as she had killed not only Sirius, but Tonks, Arthur, and Charlie as well.

At last estimate, forty-seven Death Eaters had been killed, a little over half of the Dark Lord's ranks. Adrian and Marcus, (who had not been a part of the attacking force in Diagon Alley, as they were considered too new to be trained properly in combat technique,) reported the grim news that Voldemort had already swayed thirty or so more to be branded with the Dark Mark, and his army was closing in on a hundred members. The order had to keep their numbers low, to conduct their affairs with the utmost level of secrecy. Marcus and Adrian in particular had to be protected, as everyone else in the wizarding world thought them to be loyal Death Eaters. Only the members of the Order of the Phoenix knew that they weren't pureblood obsessed, homicidal maniacs, but heroic figures.

Currently, these heroic figures were immersed in a game of paper football with Ludo Bagman, Wood, and Krum (Hermione had taught them the addictive game her American Muggle cousin, John, had shown her.) As the "football" whizzed through the air, it narrowly missed smacking Harry in the head, not that he noticed, as he was asleep with his head down on the table, a faint trickle of drool escaping his semi-opened mouth. Wood raised his arms in a silent gesture of victory, and a scowling Flint flicked the football back his way. Normally, Snape would have acidly snapped insults at their "pathetic little prat-like antics," but he and Lupin were now thoroughly distracted by their ongoing row, which had now been reduced to the Professors drawing insulting caricatures of each other.

Lupin was wildly waving about his rendering of Snape, a stick-figure that looked remarkably oily and bat-like, with a word bubble that read, "I'm a big, greasy git, who can't get over one freaking prank that Moony didn't even have ANYTHING TO DO WITH, because I seem to have a perpetually lodged stick up my bum." Snape, for his part, had a badly drawn image of Lupin, complete with a mane of purely gray hair, exaggeratedly tattered robes, ludicrously overdone wrinkles, and claws instead of hands. Little Lupin's word bubble read, "Even though I am a nasty, evil werewolf, who is prematurely aging, everyone likes ME the best! I get to be Headmaster! All the middle-aged women love ME! Nyah, Nyah, Nyah-Nyah-Nyah, Severus!"

Hagrid was doodling pictures of a suspiciously familiar looking dragon while sporting a misty, dreamy look in his eyes. Harry had begun to loudly snore. Fred and George were trying to sneak their newest invention, Hair-raising Honey, (which made the unlucky victim look as if they had stuck their finger in a light socket,) into the pumpkin juice of everyone in the room. Percy was raptly taking fevered notes on the meeting, and was now copying Snape's and Lupin's caricatures in detail. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Sturgis Podmore, Mr. and Mrs. Diggory, Mrs. Longbottom, and Griselda Marchbanks were huddled together having the actual meeting of the order. Professor Trelawney was dealing a set of tarot cards and casting long, mournful sighs and pitying, melancholy gazes in Hermione's direction. Hermione had been her new target for death predictions ever since Harry's Quibbler interview had been printed; she adored him. Plus, Trelawney seemed to be harboring a grudge for the whole walking-out-of-her-class incident in third year. Mrs. Figg was looking at an album full of cat pictures, and attempting to regale a still loudly snoring Harry with tales of their furry exploits. Mundungus Fletcher was throwing furtive looks around the table while "confiscating" a few items of value. Hermione was finishing up her Astronomy essay, (Astrology: Truth or Hoax? Discuss) thus completing all homework assignments due in the next two weeks. She had brought it to do in case of the event of Snape and Lupin getting into a huge scream-fest. They didn't always disrupt the meetings with their arguing, but since Snape had made a particularly nasty comment regarding werewolves and the fact that they should all be "put down" last week, he and Lupin had been extra catty with each other.

Of course, the Remus Lupin of six months ago would have ignored all petty remarks uttered by Snape effortlessly, but since the death of Sirius he had taken a page out of Harry's book, (Anger: How to Thwart Others With Your Completely Justified Rage) and became much more confrontational. The first hint of Lupin's changing persona came when he informed Harry and Hermione that he had sent Narcissa Malfoy Kreacher in a box. Or at least, Kreacher's chopped up remains in a box.

Lupin, who seemed to finally have come to his senses, passed out scrolls of elaborate plans to the members of the order; (Harry awoke with a startled squawk when Hermione kicked him,) and after explaining them in minute detail dismissed the meeting.

Hermione and Harry descended the revolving staircase, while snickering loudly with Fred and George over their success in getting Snape to eat some Hair-raising Honey. The slimy git in question was obliviously stalking down the corridor some ten feet in front of them, his trademark sinister scowl and billowing robes in place. Luckily, as it was Saturday morning, there were no students about in the second-floor corridor, so Fred and George hurried way with a hasty set of goodbyes to their shop in Hogsmeade before Snape could notice his current predicament and attempt to hex them in retaliation.

"Harry," Hermione muttered out of he corner of her mouth, "we need to go to-"

"Library gents! Hermione and I hope you won't miss us too much!" Harry called cheerily to the order members departing in every direction to their various tasks. Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and setting a brisk pace, steered her towards the library.

Madam Pince gave her usual vulture like glare of impending doom in their direction. She had been irritable even more so than usual with the two of them. Lupin had given them free reign in the restricted section, his reasoning to Madam Pince being, "Harry's destiny is to defeat Voldemort, after all." So she had taken to popping up randomly between shelves and under tables, apparently convinced she would find them making origami out of the pages of her books. After pouncing upon them and finding no reason for punishment, she would hover around them as long as possible, until in a fit of exasperation they would loudly stage a conversation saying the word "Voldemort" as much as possible. After Madam Pince would shriek and drop books a few times, she eventually would give up and stalk away, intent on finding misbehaving students to yell at.

They plopped down at their usual corner table in the back, both laden down with a towering stack of books. Hermione pulled out a large pile of parchment, and shuffled through until she found the mound labeled, "Life in the 1940's: Clothes, Sayings, Politics and Magical Innovations." Harry was immersed in a heap entitled "Time: The Final Frontier," and was hurriedly scratching notes with a furrowed brow of concentration. Hermione was flipping through an old Muggle fashion magazine from the forties, and sketching styles with her quill.

They had been quietly working for a few hours, pausing only for a quick lunch of apples and turkey sandwiches that Hermione had stowed away in her satchel. They had to gulp the food down in turns, one keeping an eye out while one inhaled food, since if they were caught, Madam Pince would have their heads. Hermione was just rolling up her third roll of parchment with a yawn, when she froze, her eyes darting to Harry. He was immobile as well, his head cocked to the side, listening intently. That's when they heard it again, much clearer this time, shrill screams from the direction of the Great Hall.

Harry leapt up without so much as a backward glance. "Typical," muttered an exasperated Hermione.

As Harry sprinted towards the library door, she cast the concealment charm (made so popular when Educational Degree Number twenty-six had been in effect,) on her's and Harry's notes, (they now appeared to be History of Magic notes, which nobody in their right mind would read,) crammed them into her bag, and ran after an already long gone Harry.

As she dashed through the corridor, down two staircases, and through a winding, crowded corridor, her heavy bag slamming painfully into her leg, Hermione wondered how on Earth Harry, who was so underfed and stringy looking, could possibly move so fast.

She pushed past a crowd of Hufflepuffs- which Ernie Macmillan, Prefect badge agleam, was leading- stumbled through a group of hysterical first years, and skidded down the marble staircase leading into the school's entryway. There were tons of students and Professors packed into the entryway. She spotted Harry, who had somehow managed to make his way to the front of the surging, panicked crowd, all of whom were shouting incoherently. Everyone appeared to be trying to shove their way outside, until suddenly, an eerie hush descended, and the mob stilled. Hermione, who was crushed between two Slytherins and the hyperactive Creevey brothers, impatiently hopped up and down to try and see over the two enormous heads of the Slytherins in front of her.

"What's going on?"

_Hop. Hop_.

"What is everyone looking at?"

_Hop. Hop. Hop._

One of the gigantic Slytherins in front of her (who Hermione now recognized as Crabbe and Millicent Bulstrode,) roughly grabbed her arm to step her incessant hopping and yanked her down a step between them so she could see what all the fuss was about. Hermione opened her mouth to thank them, but her voice died soundlessly in her throat at the looks on Crabbe and Millicent's faces. Both were pale- though Crabbe was more a sickly green and Millicent an ash gray-and both looked on the verge of vomiting. Hermione whipped her head around to look at what the still silent crowd, (which Harry was now at the front of,) was staring at.

A small, strangled moan escaped her throat as she recognized what she was seeing. This noise broke the spell everyone seemed to be under, and several people screamed, while many more shoved forward through the crowd, and the rest turned their heads and heaved up their last meals. Hermione was one of the shovers, and she again, like in Diagon Alley, seemed possessed by an unknown force as she vaguely noticed she was now at the front of the crowd with a dumbstruck Harry and an enraged Professor Snape. (He seemed to have discovered his Afro earlier and performed the counter-charm, and it was now back in all its greasy, lank, glory.)

There were bodies. Dead bodies. At least fifty, and all kids. All Hogwarts students, who each had been tied to a wooden stake that was planted in the ground, some had the stake stuck through their bodies as well. All of them had a glazed stare, face frozen in an expression of horror, pain, or both. Hermione, who had felt Harry's hand close like a vice onto her arm a second before, staggered and almost keeled over as she looked at their faces. They were all Slytherins. Silver and green ties were neatly round their necks, the Slytherin crest on their robes. Some had prefect badges on. As Hermione looked into the nearest face, she felt her legs give out and she slid to the ground, a boneless Harry falling into a heap next to her.

Pansy Parkinson, dead. Her prefect badge gleaming, a trickle of blood exiting her mouth. Goyle. Draco Malfoy. Practically the entire Slytherin Quidditch team. Captain Montague, keeper Miles Bletchley, and chaser Warrington. The other Slytherin sixth year girls, Patrice Jugson, Adel Mulcibur, and Irene McDonough. At least six of the Slytherin's first years. As Hermione's gaze fell on little Walter Sims, a sweet first year that she had come upon crying in an empty corridor the first week of school because he didn't have any friends, she felt herself dry heave and turned to retch onto the stone stairs beneath her that lead up to the door of the castle. Harry was shaking next to her, and had his head buried in his hands as he sobbed. Hermione dimly realized her pile of vomit had a neon green glow to it, and she wearily cast her vision upwards and looked upon that mark she was growing to hate more every day, the Dark Mark.

As she sat observing the Professors attempting to pry down the corpses of her classmates in the grass below, a sobbing Wood struggling to tear a hysterical Crabbe away from Malfoy and Goyle, a ghostly white Madam Pomfrey rushing about desperately checking to see if anyone was still alive, Hermione again thought of her plan. The plan she had mentioned only to Harry, the one they had been researching all this afternoon, but never really seriously considered. Now, she was serious. She would do it. She would not sit back and watch her family, friends, classmates, and even her old rivals die. She would not let Harry be placed with the burden of the entire wizarding world' s fate on his shoulders. She would not watch him fight Voldemort to the death. She was going to go back in time and stop Tom Riddle any way she could.

A/N I own none of the characters, blah blah blah, I'm sure you are all aware of that.

The title, Exitus Acta Probat, is Latin for "the outcome justifies the deed" The "Ango" poison in the first chapter is Latin for "suffocation." The "Munimentum" charm is latin for "a fortress; protection."

Also, I must admit the Kreacher in a box thing wasn't my idea, I stole that shamelessly from someone else. If you are that author, or you know who I am talking about, please tell me so I can post due credit. Also, major props and love to my beta Normio.


	3. Sifting Through the Remains

**Ch 2 Sifting Through the Remains**

Hermione was back in Lupin's office, a grim Harry clutching her hand under the table like a drowning man clutches a life preserver. The portraits of the previous Hogwarts' Headmasters were all wide-awake and alert, despite the fact that the hour was closing in on one in the morning. The levity of the order meeting earlier that day had vanished. All three were raptly listening to the report being given by Adrian and Marcus. After the chaos of the great hall, the quiet of Lupin's office was driving Hermione insane.

Viktor had grabbed her and Harry outside while they had sat numbly on the steps, and ordered them to herd the Gryffindors into the Great Hall. Percy was shoving a large crowd of sobbing third year Ravenclaws through the doors, and was barking instructions to the prefects and the Head Boy and Girl. After everyone had gathered in the Great Hall, Percy had taken charge and effectively calmed the students down. The professors and various adult witches and wizards were still outside with the bodies.

It was fortunate Percy had been elevated to heroic status following the Diagon Alley incident, as the respect of the students towards Percy made them obey willingly. Krum was assisting, by passing out tissues and bottles of butterbeer and administering calming droughts and cheering charms to steady everyone's nerves. Wood was nowhere to be found, he was presumably outside with the others. Hermione was desperately trying to hold herself and Harry together, as she knew if anyone saw Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the hope of the wizarding world fall to pieces, a riot might break out. Harry was now taking deep breaths, and his eyes were significantly less bugged out.

They had to wait a few minutes that seemed to be a lifetime before Lupin came in with the other professors and informed the crowd that yes, Voldemort had killed their classmates. However, there was evidence to prove it had not occurred in Hogsmeade or on Hogwarts grounds; the bodies had been transported there already dead, as a message. After repeated assurances of their safety, and answering a good number of questions, Lupin had conjured sleeping bags for them all and placed the prefects in charge. He had left the hall, with a pointed look at Hermione and Harry, who had snuck out a discrete minute or so after him for an emergency meeting of the order. That was how they had come to be in Lupin's office again, with the rest of the Order downstairs taking care of the students.

Lupin had talked kindly to the two of them, and Harry had shocked all three of them by throwing himself at Professor Lupin, crying loudly. Hermione had sat still as a statue. Once Harry had detached himself from Lupin, while muttering apologies and blushing profusely, Lupin hugged her as well.

"So," continued a weary-looking Adrian Pucey, "we weren't informed of the ritual beforehand, but we were invited to the power-sharing ceremony when we returned earlier today to the stronghold." Here he paused, looking ill, "apparently we've moved up through the ranks further than we thought," he finished, disgusted.

"So were those killed done so because they were traitors, or because they were irrelevant?" asked an intent Lupin.

"Both," broke in Flint, "we're not sure who is who, though. Basically, all we know is that all of the senior members of the Death Eaters sacrificed their first born, loyal or not."

"But what about Walter?" interrupted Hermione angrily. "His parents aren't Death Eaters!"

Flint turned to her, as Pucey seemed too ill to speak, "They needed their numbers up. More death, more power for them."

"And for you!" Hermione retorted furiously. "You got stronger out of this- this _slaughter_ as well! Didn't you?"

Flint and Pucey now looked lived, and Flint roared at her, "Do you think we _enjoyed _watching them die? Kids we went to school with? Kids I played Quidditch with? That I was Captain of?"

"Of course she thinks we liked it, Marcus," piped up a sneering Pucey, "we're Slytherins, remember? Even after what she saw earlier she can only see us as villains."

"It doesn't help that all you lot can do is call her a Mudblood!" bellowed an irate Harry.

_Oh, dear, now they've gone and pissed off Harry. This is going to get ugly. _

"Look," broke in Lupin in a placating manner, "no one is accusing you two of anything. Everyone's tied, and had a bad day. Please continue."

Adrian, Marcus, and Harry, all three breathing heavily and glowering, nodded shortly and Flint continued their report.

"My lord, it is done. The half-breed has received your message."

"Good, Rudolphus. I am pleased. I feel strong. I feel more alive than I have in years."

"I am pleased to hear it, my lord. Bella and I feel stronger as well."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Rudolphus."

"No, n-n-n-n-no, my lord, you did not. Forgive me."

"I do. But I feel now as if I wish to try out my new strength."

"In-indeed, my Lord? How are you-"

"CRUCIO!"

"ARGHHHHHHHHH!!!!! MY LORD, STOP! I BEG YOU! PLEASE!"

"Very well. But only because you asked so nicely. Now go and fetch my wife. Make it quick, or I will demonstrate a new curse I have thought of just for you."

"Y-y-y-ye-yes, my lord. Right away!"

Lord Voldemort sat down on his throne-like chair with a sigh. He picked up a nearby black widow spider, which had recently had the engorgement charm cast upon it, and was now ten times its natural size. Nagini circled his feet, hissing softly to her master. Voldemort studied the squirming spider absently, then conversed with a still hissing Nagini quietly. As the stone dungeon door swung heavily open again, Voldemort lifted the writhing spider and cleanly bit off its head. As the poisonous blood of the spider trickled from his mouth, he thoughtfully chewed its meat, savoring the taste. His blood-covered hands dropped the feebly twitching remains to Nagini, and he rose to greet his guests. Rudolphus was holding the door open for the Dark Lord's wife, who was dressed in robes of black silk, and covered in blood red rubies. The hood of her cloak was up, shadowing her lovely face, and she turned and imperiously beckoned to a small figure behind her.

Lord Voldemort descended the stairs surrounding his throne, while licking the thin stream of escaped blood off of his mouth. He held out his unnaturally long, blood-covered hand, and met the pale, delicate hand of his wife. He drew her beside him, and languorously kissed her, while the timid figure of a young girl shifted uneasily in front of them.

Finally, Lord Voldemort drew back from the soft lips of his wife, and grinned his frightening grin. His wife, whose existence was known only to his innermost circle of Death Eaters, drew her now bloody hand from his grasp, and never breaking eye contact, slowly brought a finger to her mouth and licked it clean. Voldemort growled deep in his throat, and stepped forward, intent on taking her there, when Rudolphus gave a discreet cough. Voldemort turned his red gaze blazing with fury in his direction, but stopped when his sight rested on the silent girl in front of him. He frowned.

"Are you not a Hogwarts student?"

"Yes, my lord. And may I say what an honor it is to meet such a powerful-"

"Silence. I didn't ask you to speak."

A high-pitched giggle escaped the throat of the black clad woman. "Oh, Tom, there's no need to be so rude," she simpered. Rudolphus Lestrange paled visibly at that, and stepped backwards as Voldemort hissed angrily and grabbed her by the throat.

"What have I told you about calling me that?" he ground out, eyes more slit-like than usual.

"Oh Tom, stop, you're turning me on," the woman purred.

Voldemort released her in annoyance. "You always want sex. If I didn't know any better, I'd say those brothers of yours must have 'played' with you," he spat viciously, yet with an amused gleam in his eye.

The woman pouted, "You're no fun, Tom. You haven't tied me up in ages."

Voldemort coldly replied, "Perhaps I will right now, if only to gag you, so I can get you to shut your stupid mouth."

The woman giggled again, and lowered the hood of her robes, a bright cascade of copper hair now visible, and revealing she was no woman, and little more than a little girl.

"I know better things to do with my mouth," she said slowly.

Voldemort pulled her in for another brutal kiss, than turned his attention back to the other girl. "Why are you here?" he demanded roughly. "Why do you waste my time?" The red-haired girl cuddled up to Lord Voldemort.

"Now, Tom, she's here as my guest. She wants to serve you. You know we still have spies from that half-breed in our ranks. She's here to ...even the playing field."

"Is this true, girl? You have come to pledge your life to Lord Voldemort, to betray your family and friends, to swear your eternal loyalty to the Dark Lord?"

"Yes, my lord," said the girl breathlessly. She sunk into a deep curtsy, than continued, "I wish to aid you in ridding the world of Mudbloods and Muggle filth, and in restoring power to purebloods."

Voldemort stared at her, his red eyes boring into her very thoughts. "Very well," he said shortly, "You will meet with Bellatrix for your assignment. Rudolphus, take her to Bella."

"Yes, my master," groveled Lestrange, and he led the still curtsying girl out be her elbow.

"As for you..." said a visibly irritated Voldemort, "you are to be punished for undermining my authority."

"Punished?" smirked the girl as Voldemort waved his wand, locking the stone door.

"Yes. Punished," purred Voldemort while conjuring a pair of iron manacles.

The girl smiled, running her hands under her robes. She untied them, and lifted them off her shoulders to puddle at her feet on the floor.

"Why Ginny, my dear," murmured Voldemort, lifting a hairless brow, "no underwear? Were you expecting something?"

Ginny matched him smirk for smirk, as he suddenly made a violent move towards her.

Hermione felt a jerk from behind her navel, and she was suddenly flying through a tunnel of rushing winds, colors, and sounds, her hand clenched around the portkey pulling her onwards. Her feet slammed onto the ground, knocking her over onto her rear. It was drizzling outside, and she had managed to land right in the middle of a dirty puddle. She stood up and disgustedly swatted at her soaked skirt in a vain attempt to wipe the mud off of it. She glanced up the empty alley she had landed in, across the street from the visiting entrance to the Ministry of Magic. There was no one in sight, so Hermione quickly performed the drying charm on her clothes, then pocketed her wand and the portkey (a chocolate frog,) into her coat. Dressed as a Muggle to avoid attracting unwanted attention, Hermione briskly walked over to the dilapidated phone booth and dialed the number for admittance.

"Visitor to the Ministry of Magic, please state your name and business," came the cool female voice.

_Typical. The entire staff is wiped out in less than a minute and they still have the same security system._

"Hermione Granger, and I'm here on a mission for Remus Lupin, Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Thank you visitor to the ministry. You will be required to submit your wand at the front desk for inspection."

"Blah, blah, blah, hurry the bloody hell up," muttered an irritable Hermione as she pinned the silver badge the phone had spewed out onto her sky blue jumper. She straightened her skirt and attempted to smooth her hair, (a losing battle if ever there was one,) and stepped out into the atrium. As soon as she stepped out of the elevator she was accosted by a group of wizards wearing robes with the Ministry's seal on them. They formed a circle around her as she let out a shriek of indignation as two of them began patting her down for weapons. A burly, bearded wizard pulled out her wand, while the others examined the contents of her coat pockets. Along with the chocolate frog, (which they had better not confiscate, as Lupin had charmed it to recharge back into a portkey after three hours,) they investigated a spiral Muggle notebook, a Muggle pen, and- (Hermione suppressed a snort of laughter with some difficulty) - a tampon. When she saw that they were planning on tearing it open to observe it further, she sweetly explained it was a Muggle device used to stem blood flow. Of the menstrual variety. At which point it was dropped like a hot potato and the red-faced wizards shoved her belongings back at her with hasty apologies.

"No problem. How is the cleaning coming along?"

"Great," stated a young, slightly familiar looking wizard, "after all, nothing was destroyed, Dumbledore got here just in time. Just...the workers," he finished uncomfortably.

"Mmmm," Hermione eloquently responded, already bored with their small talk, "have any of you seen Percy? Or Kingsley?"

"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Shacklebolt are instructing the crew of protection-charm casting wizards below," said the burly wizard gruffly.

"Thanks," Hermione chirped, as she walked briskly to the golden-gated elevators. She slid inside and shut the gate behind herself, and stated she wanted to go to level nine.

She was glad to be away from the touchy-feely guards upstairs, (her skin was still crawling from that encounter,) but the elevator was rather spooky as well. The only time she had been to the ministry was the ill-fated "rescue" of Sirius a few months ago, but Harry had told her all about his trial, and she knew the ministry never had empty elevators, (with only one lone memo flapping overhead,) like the lift she was in now. The lift stopped as the cool voice stated, "Department of Mysteries," and the gate slid open. Hermione walked down the stone hallway, the hair on her arms rising swiftly. Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, and her breathing sounded oddly loud and ragged. She was not one to be scared easily, but the dim lighting and the fact that the Ministry had held the bodies of hundreds of dead employees not three months ago was seriously unnerving her.

As she reached the black door to the Department of Mysteries, she took a few calming breaths and pulled out a key from her shoe-one spot the groping guards had forgotten- and inserted it into the lock. It opened with a resounding "click" and Hermione dropped the key back into her shoe for safekeeping, (Lupin would kill her if she lost it.) She stepped into the eerie, blue, circular room, and stood still as the walls whizzed by her in a blur. Hermione cleared her throat and said in a clear voice, "I'd like to enter the room with the bell-jar and shelves of time-turners, please." She had believed Harry when he told her how the room seemed to be just waiting for him to ask which way to go when he was chasing Bellatrix, but her mouth still fell open slightly when the correct door obediently swung open for her. She walked into the room, her forehead breaking into a cold sweat, as she remembered how Dolohov had cursed her in this room. He was not one of the Death Eaters that had been killed, a fact that continually drove Hermione to have vivid nightmares. She knew the Death Eaters wanted her dead almost as much as they wanted Harry dead, and though she would rather willingly fail Potions than admit it, she was terrified of what might happen if she was ever captured.

She had been wandering around the room for some time before she spotted the small case Remus had described to her. It was a rectangular, white, wooden jewelry box, covered in strange carvings and writings, and emitting a strange, slightly sinister silver glow. It was triple locked manually, and at least six ways magically, if Lupin was to be believed. Hermione let out a small noise of impatience, checked her watch to see how long she had before her portkey was re-activated, and began methodically removing all the locks according to Remus's instructions. After struggling with the last iron-bolt for a good ten minutes, Hermione opened the box with a triumphant cry only to discover another locked box, which Lupin apparently didn't know about, and therefore she had no idea how to open. She was contemplating just bashing the damn thing open when-

"There you are!"

Hermione gave an undignified screech and whirled around with her wand at the ready.

"Really, Hermione, you should be more on your guard, I could've been a Death Eater," said the pompous voice she knew all too well.

"Percy," she sighed with relief, "you scared the hippogriff out of me."

"Sorry about that," he said, not sounding sorry at all, "Professor Lupin told me you would be down here, and it was no easy job sneaking away. Luckily, we have so little staff the whole building can't be occupied at once," he finished, idly twirling a key between his fingers.

"Yes, that's the benefit of a senseless bloodbath," Hermione said dryly, "easier to sneak about."

Percy looked thoughtful. "Actually, the benefit of a senseless bloodbath is the ease in which one gains power, due to the fact that everyone more powerful than you is dead."

Hermione snorted in response. "Yes, really, one should organize senseless bloodbaths at least twice a year to keep the competition down."

"Now really Hermione, don't be ridiculous. You would need to do it at least four times a year," Percy said indignantly. He quirked an eyebrow at her as she burst into laughter, while a wry smile played on his face. It was quite unlike Percy to crack jokes, and his recent state-of-mind had been one of many minds Hermione had been concerned about. It made her feel a little less worried to see him coping at least somewhat. He had been alternating wildly between a facade of the old, prim, rule following Percy, and a grim, stoic, and silent new Percy who occasionally had a gleam in his eye Hermione didn't care for one bit.

"Anyway, the guards told me you were looking for me, it apparently didn't concern them that you had said you were looking for me and still hadn't found me an hour later." He sighed, "I'm surrounded by idiots."

"Yes, it really makes one wonder how on Earth the Death Eaters were clever enough to break into such a securely guarded place," Hermione noted sarcastically, "although they seem to take their job of molesting all visitors very seriously."

Percy looked mildly concerned. "They touched you?"

"Yeah, they went all Grabby McHandsy on me, but I'll get over it," she added, perplexed, "Why did Mooney send you to find me anyway?"

Percy raised both brows alarmingly high. "Mooney? You're on a 'Mooney' name basis now? Does he call you Hermy?"

"Oh, shut it," Hermione retorted grumpily, "or I'll refer to you as 'Per' as in 'Pervert.'"

"Well, that was unnecessarily nasty," Percy said, amused. "And here I am, sneaking away like a common thug to help you, and I get called a pervert for my troubles." He held out the key he had been twirling. "I believe you were in need of this?"

"Percy, you pompous git! I could kiss you!" Hermione squealed. She snatched the key from his hands and jammed it into the locked box. It sprang open with a click, and a flash of blinding silver light blasted out for a few seconds, then dimmed to a low glow. Hermione and Percy peered at its contents excitedly.

Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the savior of the wizarding world, was currently staring at a pair of dirty socks. He had just returned from a grueling Occlumency lesson with Snape, and was blankly gazing at his foul-smelling socks while sitting on the edge of his bed in the sixth year Gryffindor boys' dormitory. His roommates, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan were downstairs playing Exploding Snap in the common room with some fourth years.

Ron's empty bed and corner of the room remained as he had left it, emblazoned with Chudley Cannons memorabilia. Harry had put up quite a fight when the House Elves came to clean it, (there was still one house elf walking about Hogwarts with a purple Mohawk, and another covered in pink and green polka-dots.)

Harry was in a particularly foul mood, as he always was after prolonged contact with Snape. He had spent half the lesson zinging snide, barely veiled insults at Harry, and the other half blatantly insulting him. It was a small consolation to Harry that he was becoming quite adept at Occlumency, he was still quite angry with himself for not mastering it before Voldemort had sent him the visions of Sirius.

A tapping on the window interrupted his bitter train of thought. He opened it to admit a jet-black owl that ruffled its feathers importantly after dropping a small wrapped package on Harry's bed, and then flew out the open window. Harry glanced warily at the parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper and twine, bearing his name on the front. He hadn't recognized the owl, and he realized it would be reckless of him to open the package without checking for curses first. This thought made up his mind, and with one vicious tug he ripped open the package. Out fell a diary, a pink one covered in glitter stickers. Harry opened the book to the first page and saw it was inscribed, "Property of Ginny Weasley." With a deep sense of foreboding, he turned the page and began to read.

A/N I do not own anything to do with Harry Potter. (Duh) Don't sue me! Thanks to my reviewers, all three of you. ;0) Thanks also to my Beta, Normio


	4. Aeternus Lapideus

**Disclaimer: If I was JK Rowling, would I be posting on a fan fiction site?  Hmm…**

**Ch 3 Aeternus Lapideus**

          "Add three newts' eyes once the potion turns yellow, stir counterclockwise four times and add a pinch of powdered snake fang, let simmer for ten minutes," Harry recited to Hermione.  They were in Potions, their third class of the day on Monday, and they had partnered to make their slimming potion, which was turning out to be extremely complex.  Snape seemed to be in a highly vindictive mood, (surprise, surprise,) and had already attempted to fail them twice.  Luckily, he was so far unsuccessful, which was causing him to glower worse than ever.  Harry kept trying to tell Hermione about the diary, but as Snape was continually breathing down their necks, he couldn't even get away with writing a note.  The entire class was working in groups of threes, (Lupin had insisted Snape teach all the students N.E.W.T. level potions, regardless of O.W.L. results,) and this served to point out the act that the trio was only a duo.  Hermione and Harry had come to an unspoken agreement regarding their dead friends, family members, and classmates; don't ask, don't tell.  The two of them refused to mention Ron at all, and if anyone else was foolish enough to mention him, they would become quite snappish.  They didn't talk about Ron for the simple fact that neither could handle it.  Hermione was racked with guilt, as she felt his death was entirely her fault.

          Blaise Zabini, a quiet sixth year Slytherin, had wordlessly joined them at their table.  He hadn't said one thing the entire class, but was proving to be far more helpful a partner than Harry.  The three other Slytherin sixth years, Crabbe, Millicent Bulstrode, and Theodore Nott were sitting at the table in front of them, and Hermione distinctly saw them throw a few nasty looks in Blaise's direction.  Snape was doing his patented bat-swoop-of-death around the room, and ordered the class to fill a flask, label it, then clean up.  Blaise, (who Hermione was starting to suspect had been hit with a silencing charm,) turned in their potion flask, and with a curt nod to Harry acknowledge Harry and Hermione's chorus of "Thanks Zabini," skulked out of the room.  Hermione was about to follow her classmates up the stairs leading up from the dungeons, when Harry yanked her sideways into an empty classroom.  He locked the door, placed a silencing charm, and proceeded to prowl around the room, convinced he would find spying house elves and lurking students.

          "Paranoid much?" Hermione observed dryly.

          "Oh, shut it," Harry snapped, as he crawled under desks in search of spies.

          "Harry, I'm starving and I have two essays to start, get to a point, if you have one."

          "Alright, alright.  No need to get cranky.  Last night when you were at the Ministry- by the way, did you get it?"

          "Yes, yes, Harry, but I'll show you after supper, get on with it."

          "Well I got an owl, and it had a package-"

          "Whose owl?"

          "I don't know, will you quit interrupting?  Anyway, I opened the package-"

          "Harry!  You opened a strange package without testing it for hexes first?"

          "Yes, mum, now do you want to hear this or not?  I opened the package and out fell a girl's diary-"

          "How did you know it was a girl's diary?"

          "Well, using my vast intellect and brilliant deductive reasoning, the pink cover and glittery unicorn and heart stickers tipped me off."

          "No need to be sarcastic."

          "Would you let me get a word in edgewise?  Anyway, turns out it's Ginny's diary."

          "Ginny?  Ginny Weasley?"

          "Yes, Hermione, when did you get so daft?  It gets worse, though.  I read it-"

          "You **read** it?"

          "Of course I read it!  The point is-"

          "Harry, a girl's diary is very personal, I don't think you had the right-"

          "GINNY'S EVIL!"

          Hermione stopped her righteous tirade mid-nag, her mouth hanging open.  Harry proceeded to explain more thoroughly that Ginny had willingly left the Burrow to go join Voldemort, and in the diary claimed she had killed Mrs. Weasley herself, along with Angelina Johnson and Mrs. Granger.  Harry was staring at Hermione expectantly, but her mind seemed frozen.

_Ginny, evil?  Sweet little Ginny, who she had shared a room with, and even exchanged a few girly, giggly moments with?  Ginny murdered her mother and Mrs. Weasley?  No, no, it wasn't possible, Harry must be wrong. _

The locked door burst open unexpectedly, flying off its hinges, and admitting a panting, red-faced Hagrid.  

          "There ye are!  What're ye two doin' down here by yerselves, nearly killed me with worry when I didn't see ye at dinner!" he attempted to both glare at them and hug them, which sent a slightly mixed message.  Hermione was having difficulty breathing from Hagrid's tight grasp, and she could see Harry struggling feebly to free himself next to her, his feet dangling two feet off the ground.  Hagrid finally released them before grabbing each of them by the arm, and half led, half dragged them upstairs to the Great Hall.  He placed them at the Gryffindor table, (Hermione projectiled face first into a bowl of mashed potatoes, and Harry slid across the tabletop, knocking two second years onto the floor,) then clucking his tongue like a mother hen, resumed his place at the staff table.

Hermione miserably picked potatoes out of her hair while Harry flopped down next to her, wincing and rubbing his lower back.  Neville, Dean, and Seamus, who were sitting on their left, were making valiant efforts to control their snickering.

          After wolfing down two helpings of shepherd's pie each, and Harry finished stuffing his face with treacle tarts, they dashed back to Gryffindor tower and Harry's dorm room.  He showed her the diary, and the two had their usual argument about whether to turn it in to teacher or not.

          "Let's see the box, anyway," Harry said, with an admirable effort to distract Hermione from her nagging.

          Hermione was well aware of this tactic, but as she was extremely anxious to show him her findings, she let it slide.  She pulled out the inscribed box (Aeternus Lapideus) from her heavy bag and popped it open.  Again the silver light blazed out, momentarily blinding them both.  Harry eagerly looked in the box.  After he stared a minute in silence, he said-

          "That's it?  You snuck out of Hogwarts on an extremely dangerous trip to the ministry, stole a top-secret, highly valuable object from the Department of Mysteries, and it turns out to be a box full of rocks?!"

          Hermione sighed wearily at Harry's ignorance, "They are not a _box of rocks_, Harry.  They are Aeternus Lapideus."

          "Meaning...?"

          "Aeternus Lapideus- _eternal stones_? The Stones of Time?"

          "Meaning...?"

          Hermione made a noise of disgusted impatience, "Harry, do you ever read, EVER?"  He looked offended.  "The eternal stones are-"

          "Oh wait, now I remember!  Aeternus Lapideus, The Stones of Time- you can travel through time because of them!"

          Hermione couldn't decide whether to point out she had just said all that, hit him, or to ignore him and move on.  "Yes, Harry.  You can time-travel through Aeternus Lapideus," she cleared her throat, (sounding disturbingly Umbridge-like to Harry,) and recited, encyclopedia style, "The Stones of Time can only be found by centaurs.  Their origins are unknown, but their power is immense.  Unlike time turners, Aeternus Lapideus can travel both back and forwards through time, and can go back a great deal further, with perfect accuracy.  Each stone is imbued with a date, which is the only date it can reverse to.  They may only be used five times, before they overheat and crack down the middle.  A time traveler can only use a certain stone for two dates, the year carved into it, and the date in which it is used.  Stones can also be distinguished by type.  Stones less than a hundred years old are always Carnelians.  The stones one hundred to one hundred ninety-nine years old are made of Rose Quartz.  Two hundred to two hundred ninety-nine years are always Malachite, and Moonstones are always three hundred years or older.  Rhodonite-"        

          "Hermione! Enough! I get the point," said an exasperated Harry, "no need to bore me to death.  Anyway, the only ones we need to worry about are the carnations, right?"

          "Carnelians, Harry."

          "Yeah, whatever.  So which ones are the carnelians?"

          Hermione reached into the box of small stones and picked out a fiery orange gem.  "This one.  I think I'm going to make it into a necklace, or a ring or something, so I won't lose it," she said thoughtfully.

          "Good idea."

          "Look, Harry, can I keep them in your dorm?  Parvati is so nosy her and Lavender will probably find it in a day."

          "Sure, Harry shrugged, "just put it under there.  No one goes there."  He was pointing to Ron' s bed.

          Hermione glanced at Harry's unreadable expression, placed the box under Ron's bed, and bid him good night.  She bumped into Seamus and Dean on the way down the stairs, both of whom waggled their eyebrows suggestively at her.

          "Hermione, I'm shocked!  Alone with Harry in our unoccupied dorm for hours again?  What will Professor Krum say?" Dean said with an expression of mock horror.

          Seamus chimed in, "Yeah, he might not give you top marks anymore, because of his raging jealousy."

          Hermione rolled her eyes.  Ever since Viktor had joined the staff, her classmates had been teasing her mercilessly about any "extra credit" or "detention" he might assign her.  She responded to Seamus' and Dean's heckling, "Yes, he _is_ quite jealous you know, he _does_ like to keep Harry all to himself."

          Seamus and Dean gaped at her for a moment before bursting into laughter and smacking her on the back, bidding her good night.  As Hermione climbed the steps to her dorm, she started undoing her hair from its plait with a yawn.  

          _Great, kill a couple of Death Eaters, become more sarcastic, and now I'm more "one-of-the-guys" than ever._

          As Hermione stripped off her clothes and changed into her pajamas, while trying not to wake her fellow sixth years, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Desdemona Macnamara and Tracey Davis, she thought of Ginny, and what had become of her.  She sank into her bed, petted a purring Crookshanks, and pulled the covers up to her chin.  There wouldn't be much sleep for her tonight.

******************************************************************************

          Hermione and Harry (and a hovering, suspicious Madam Pince,) were to be found the next morning in the library, catching a few moments of research time between breakfast and History of Magic.  Hermione was scribbling notes on Aeternus Lapideus, and Harry was engrossed in a large, musty novel entitled, Time: From Paradoxes to Ethics to Alternate Realities.

          "Do you realize," he informed Hermione out of nowhere, "we could actually be living in an alternate reality as we speak?"

          "Yes, and we all have an evil twin running around somewhere too," a preoccupied Hermione vaguely said.

          "Is Fred or George the evil twin?" Harry asked, his lips twitching.

          "Both," Hermione retorted.

          At that point, they both noticed a small tower of wool that appeared to be walking their way.

          "Dobby!" Harry said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

          "Dobby is here for Harry Potter, sir," Dobby squeaked, beaming.  "Professor Lupin sir, sent me to find you, sir,"

          "Moony wants me?  Now?" Harry asked, bewildered.

          "Yes, Harry Potter sir, right away!"

          Hermione shrugged at a confused Harry, who jammed his book into an overflowing bag and followed Dobby out of the library.

          Hermione was sitting in History of Magic, listening to Professor Binns drone on about The Great Muggle Obliviation of 1672, when she began to worry about Harry.  Class was almost half way through, and he was nowhere to be found.  Of course, as soon as she thought this, the door banged open, and a furious looking Harry stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him and stomping to his seat.  He flung his bag down, and threw himself heavily into his chair, making far more noise than Hermione thought was necessary.  Harry had just noticed he had attracted the entire class's attention.

          "WHAT? YOU'VE NEVER SEEN ME THROW A TEMPTER TANTRUM BEFORE? I FIND_ **THAT**_ HARD TO BELIEVE!" he bellowed.

          Binns continued on, oblivious to everything as usual.

          "Um, Harry," Hermione began, speaking as one would speak to a rampaging Blast-Ended-Skrewt, "are you alright?"

          "Oh yes, Hermione, I'm bloody fabulous," Harry hissed at her.  "After all, why wouldn't I be ecstatic at the thought of the Dursley's at Hogwarts?"

          Hermione took a moment to establish that she was neither still asleep, or going insane.  "The...Dursleys?  Here?" she gasped, horrified.

          "Yes, apparently Moony thinks they are at 'too much risk' from Voldemort.  I don't have a clue WHY he seems to be laboring under this delusion, as Voldemort knows perfectly well how _fond_ I am of them."

          Hermione looked at Harry in alarm.  He had a tic in his right eye, a vein bulging on his forehead, and he was gritting his teeth so hard she was shocked they weren't emitting sparks.  She had a few more questions to ask Harry, but he looked as if he would bite her head off than use it as a Quaffle if she so much as made a single peep.

          He was still grinding his teeth loudly three hours later, as they took notes in Astronomy, which Firenze had taken over teaching.  Harry was writing furiously on a sheet of parchment net to her, seemingly intent on carving the words into the table.  He rolled it up, glanced at Firenze, and passed it to Hermione.  He then promptly put his head down and fell asleep.  He had been doing that a lot lately, as he was having even more difficulty sleeping than Hermione.

Hermione-

          Sorry I'm being such a prat (as usual) but this Dursley thing has got me all wound up.  They're going to be here by tonight!  Though, (thank God!) Moony said they're staying in a house in Hogsmeade.  Anyway, while you were in Arithmancy, I was sleeping through an exhilarating (haha, yeah right,) lesson of Professor Trelawney's, and I had a really weird dream, and I was wanted to see what you would make of it.  I was standing out by the lake, petting a Thestral for some reason, when Sirius showed up with the Weasleys and Cedric Diggory.  It wasn't all the Weasley's, just Bill, Charlie, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Ron.  They all looked good, and told me not to worry about them, (they said to tell you hi,) but something was coming that I had to know about, and all they could tell me is this riddle.  Then they all started chanting this rhyme in a singsong:

                             In the Circles Nine they will lie,

                             Not on the bottom of the sea.

                             Where red is spilled, start to run,

                             Silent as the grave you must be.

                             But while you flee remember this,

                             To my words you must heed,

                             Beware the tangled webs

                             The Sphinx has come to weave.

                             At your door the wolf will come to call,

                             Mars must stop the fractured, 

                             Or all will crumble and fall.

                             Violets will wither, the grass will turn brown,

                             The skeleton will be seen,

                             The gauge on the meter will be left at three.

                             Take the silver needle,

                             Where dwells the hearts of ash,

                             Greet Danaus's daughter,

                             When she comes to pass.

Weird, eh?  I have no idea what it means, but I figured if anyone would, it's you.

                   ---Harry

          Hermione folded up the note, her forehead creased in puzzlement.

          _Danaus's daughter?  Web-spinning Sphinxes?  Gee, I wonder if they could vague it up a little.  I don't think it's obscure enough_.

          She shoved the note in her overflowing book bag, and as she did so, a scrap of parchment fell onto the floor.  Hermione snatched it in her hand, and opened it discreetly under the desk.

Granger--

            I have to tell you something really important.  Meet me behind Greenhouse four at midnight tomorrow.  You can bring Potter if you don't trust me.

                                    ---BZ

          _What in the world was this all about?  First Harry has a weird, prophetic dream I have to decode, then I get some mysterious note from **Blaise Zabini** of all people, who I've spoken about ten words to in my entire life, to meet him tonight in secret.  I still have to research time travel, Aeternus Lapideus, and life in the forties, not to mention homework!  I'm never going to sleep again!_

          The bell rang to signal the end of the period.  Hermione pocketed Blaise's note, and poked a comatose Harry.  He gave a wild start.

          "The Sphinx will come!"

          "Um, Harry... you were dreaming again."  Hermione gently pointed out.

          "Er...right...let's go to dinner, I'm starving." an abashed Harry said.

          "Yes, all that rigorous snoring you were doing must have worked up quite the appetite."

          "You know, I think I liked you a lot better when you weren't so sarcastic.  Even though you were always studying and nagging...wait a minute!  You still study all the time and nag at me constantly!"

          "I do not!  I nag way less than I used to!"

          "Ha!  Which means you nag at me every other sentence instead of every sentence!"

          "Harry James Potter, you take that back!"

          "Not until you admit you are a complete nag!"

          "Mr. Potter!  Miss Granger!  Could you kindly conduct your screaming matches somewhere that isn't in front of the door to the hospital wing?" snapped an irate Madam Pomfrey.

          "Sorry," they mumbled in tandem.

          Madam Pomfrey eyed them beadily, "Come in here and help me until you learn never to shout in the halls again," she demanded.

          Harry opened his mouth to argue, (probably with a mention of how starving he was,) when Hermione swiftly kicked him in the shin to shut him up.  Madam Pomfrey glared at them, and shoved them inside the hospital wing.

          "Now, you two keep my patients company, while I nip out for supper, and then you can mop the floor.  Without magic."

          Harry and Hermione gave each other depressed looks and walked off to two different beds as Madam Pomfrey left.  Harry approached the first bed on the left, and, with a start, recognized a drunken, snoring, Winky.  Hermione turned to the bed on the right, her eyes widening alarmingly, and froze in place.

          "Oh, hello!" said a golden-locked, blue-eyed, gleaming-toothed man.  "Come to get an autograph again?  Well, glad to oblige!  My joined-up writing has become considerably better!"

          It was difficult to say if Lockhart actually recognized her from their last encounter at St. Mungo's or not, but Hermione was betting the latter.  She seemed to have lost the ability to speak, although her hearing was just fine.  She could hear an uncomfortable Harry,

          "So, er, Winky, how have you been?"

          She responded by snoring louder.

"Er, you don't say.  Well, uh... you look great!  Have you lost weight?"

          Hermione snorted and shook off her stupor.  "Professor Lockhart!  It's so good to see you again!"

          Lockhart, who was alternating between furiously signing an enormous stack of photographs of himself, and gazing dreamily at his reflection in a metal bedpan, looked up at her with a dazzling smile.

          "Thank you, dear girl!  Yes, I was a fabulous Professor, wasn't I?  I don't remember being one myself, of course, but that nice nurse lady said so, and then she told me it was time for a spanking," he paused, looking puzzled,  "she says that a few times every week."  He suddenly beamed again, "It must be because I'm so good-looking!"

          Hermione had gone back to a slack-jawed look of "Duh...?"

          _Oh, good Lord, did he just say what I think he said?  Ew!  Madam Pomfrey is so old!  But can I really blame her?  Damn is he gorgeous... Hermione, no!  What have we talked about?  You need to stop your obsession with older guys **right now**.  What is with you, anyway?  First Professor Lockhart, then Professor Lupin, then Sirius, then Viktor... not to mention your huge crush on Oliver Wood!  Well, Wood is hot.  True.  Okay, Wood is acceptable, but the rest- oh, shut up!  I'm not arguing with myself any longer!_

          "Um, yes, well... how... nice," Hermione managed to stutter out.  She edged slowly sideways, trying to discreetly escape.  As Lockhart was now curling his hair around a bottle of Pepper-up potion, he appeared unaware of her inchings.  She turned and fled over to Harry, who had given up attempting to converse with Winky, and was now at the last occupied bed.

          "Professor Flitwick!"  Hermione gasped in surprise, "How are you?"  The charms teacher was propped upon five pillows, and swathed in bandages.

          "Much better, Miss Granger, thank you," the tiny Professor squeaked.

          "When are you coming back to teach?" asked Harry.

          "Soon, Mr. Potter, maybe by next week.  It takes quite a while to recover from being hit second-hand by the Killing Curse."

          Bellatrix Lestrange had cast the curse in question at Professor Sprout; strangely, it had hit Sprout, than rebounded onto Flitwick, which hadn't killed him, but had severely injured him.  Flitwick glanced over at the door to the hospital wing, when someone cleared their throat.  Hermione and Harry whipped their heads around.  Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust, and Harry visibly flinched.

          "Hello," an icy Cho Chang said, "we are looking for Madam Pomfrey."

          "She's not here right now, she's at dinner," Hermione replied, mimicking Cho's cold tone.

          "Oh," Cho glanced at her companion, a SNEAK free Marietta Edgecombe, "well, we'll just get what we need, then."

          Hermione could tell by Harry's glare, (that seemed to burn with the fire of a thousand suns) that he, too, was considering hexing them both.

          "And what would that be?" he snapped.

          "Not that it's any of your business, Potter, Marietta injured her arm in Care of Magical Creatures from one of Hagrid's Graphorns, and we need some bandages," Cho sniffed.  "We know where they are."  Before Harry or Hermione could say a word, she reached in a cupboard, extracted a roll of bandages, and flounced out the door with Marietta trailing her.

          _That's odd.  I could've sworn Cho said Marietta needed bandages, but Cho had her left arm wrapped as well._

          Hermione opened her mouth to relay this thought to Harry when Madam Pomfrey bustled in the room and shooed them out to go to dinner.

******************************************************************************

          Hermione crept stealthily around the scattered belongings of her roommates in the Gryffindor sixth year girl's dormitory.  She was trying her best to be silent, as she knew Lavender, Parvati, Desdemona, and Tracey were sleeping, and if they caught her sneaking out, fully clothed, at a half hour to midnight, they would surely pester her, or worse, follow her until they got answers.  

          Hermione dodged Tracey's open trunk, Lavender's gigantic make-up kit, and squeaked as she trod in a large pile of underwear.__

          Oh please, let them not be used, please let them not be used… 

          So intent was she on willing herself not to scream in horror at the amount of germs permeating her foot, she failed to notice Desdemona's cauldron and smacked her shin painfully on it.  She hopped around on one foot, biting her lip to stifle her moans of pain.  Thoroughly annoyed now, Hermione slipped on her shoes, wrenched open the door, and half walked, half hobbled, down the stairs.  When she stepped into the common room, she spotted a brooding, moody Harry staring into the fire with the invisibility cloak (and a scrap of old parchment she suspected to be the Marauder's Map) in his lap.  She stood transfixed, her eyes glued to Harry, who seemed unaware of her presence.  As she stared at Harry, she felt her composure crack.  She hadn't cried since Ron's funeral, and she struggled to control her need to break down and sob.  Harry was sitting without his façade on.  He had a look of helplessness and emptiness that Hermione empathized with, as that was the look in her eyes when she was alone.  They had both dealt with the catastrophic events around them by pretending everything was as it always had been, and by becoming extremely dependent on each other.

          _Don't cry, don't cry, don't crack, Hermione, you won't be able to function anymore if you give in to your grief.  And then what use to the Order will you be then?_

          "So, the blank staring and slouched sitting… are you practicing for our new course, Advanced Brooding?" Hermione said in a falsely cheerful voice.  Harry gave her a dirty look.

          "Yes, I expect to get top grades.  We already know you are going to ace Nagging 101, so I have to beat you in something," he retorted.

          Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Let's go, smart aleck," she pretended to be annoyed, when in actuality she was relieved that Harry's unsettling blank look had gone.

          They flung on the invisibility cloak, checked out the map for approaching teachers, ghosts, and/or prefects, and hurried out of the portrait hole.

          Hermione and Harry, still hidden under the cloak, peered around the corner of Greenhouse Three at Greenhouse Four.  They were running late, even though they had set out so early, because of the large amount of security placed on the castle recently.  

          Mrs. Norris had almost given them away when they were crouching behind a statue of Edgar the Eager on the second floor, trying to avoid the ever-prowling Filch.  They had also been forced to dodge a Quaffle juggling Peeves, and a buoyant Ludo Bagman, regaling Sturgis Podmore (who had a glazed, vacant look in his eyes) about his record-breaking Wimbourne Wasp days.

          "I don't see him," Hermione hissed to Harry.

          "Wow, an untrustworthy Slytherin," Harry commented sarcastically, "what HAS the world come to?  Next thing you know, you're going to tell me Flitwick has joined the Lollipop Guild, or that Snape uses petrol to wash his hair, or that Oliver Wood is just a _little_ obsessed with Quidditch, or-"

          "Do you EVER shut up, Potter?  Considering Granger's grades are about double yours, I think she got your oh-so-subtle point ten minutes ago."

          The Golden Duo simultaneously spun to their right.  There stood their fellow sixth year, Slytherin Blaise Zabini.  He was quite tall, (although not as tall as Ron had been, but a good six feet nonetheless,) had dark blue eyes, tousled black hair, and was currently sporting a smirk worthy of a Malfoy.

          "Zabini!" Harry hissed, annoyed, "where have you been?"

          "Well, I've been waiting behind Greenhouse Four, contemplating the meaning of life, and what exactly, is it that makes Skiving Snackboxes taste so good?  Then, I passed out from boredom waiting for you two, and I awoke upon hearing childish bickering, and spotting a pair of feet apparently without legs."  Blaise pointed to the ground, where it became clear Harry's and Hermione's feet were sticking out from underneath the invisibility cloak.  

          Hermione flung the cloak off of them with an impatient noise.  "Look, Zabini, enough with the sarcasm, why did you ask me to meet you here?"

          Harry added, "and don't bother asking about the cloak or this," he waved the Marauder's Map around, which Blaise had been eyeing with interest, "I know how you Slytherins work!  All a bunch of two-timing – "

          "Actually," Blaise interrupted, "I was just thinking how much this explains," he said, while inspecting the invisibility cloak.  "But never mind, Potter, I believe you were in the middle of a rant about how evil I am.  Continue."

          Harry's hackles were raised, and Hermione had to grab hold of his tie to stop him for lunging at Zabini.  

          "Alright," Hermione snapped, ignoring a choking, hacking Harry, "this is how it's going to work.  Zabini, you will kindly explain why you dragged me out here when I could be sleeping, and Harry, you will _control yourself_," she paused.  "Perhaps you shouldn't talk at all, Harry.  The first time one of you pisses me off, I _will_ hex you both into oblivion.  Now, get to it," she said to Zabini, while folding her arms resolutely.

          Zabini, who looked rather taken aback said, "Well… alright then," he fumbled about, searching the pockets of his robes, and pulled out a rolled up parchment.  It had been sealed with a black wax emblem, which Hermione recognized as the Dark Mark.  Blaise held it out in their direction.

          "Go on and read it, then," he said seriously.  His earlier sarcastic demeanor had evaporated, and he now looked extremely nervous.

          Harry snatched it from Blaise and unrolled it, Hermione looking over his shoulder to read with him.

****

**_Vincent Crabbe II,_**

**_        Your presence is required this October the 24th at 3:00 A.M., at Malfoy Manor.  The Dark Lord is interested in you, and is eager to make your acquaintance.  Bring one of your friends.   Vincent, do not fail me._**

**_                Your Father,_**

**_                Vincent Crabbe Sr._**

****

"You know what day the 24th is, don't you?" Zabini suddenly asked.

          Harry looked up, his face strangely pale.  "The day the Slytherins were killed."  Zabini nodded.  "What are you doing with this, Zabini?" Harry asked slowly.

"Did you steal it?" Hermione asked.

"Of course," Zabini retorted, annoyed.  "Do you think I walked over to Crabbe and said, 'Hey Vince, can I borrow that letter you showed me, you know, the one where it proves your father's a Death Eater?'"

          "He showed it to you?" Hermione demanded.

          Zabini gave her an unreadable expression.  "Yes.  He showed it to me, and warned me to leave the dormitory that night.  He said to stay away from Draco, and from Greg."

          "What?  Why?" Harry questioned.

          "Potter, I know you and Granger know why they were killed, so drop the act."

          "We know a little," Hermione admitted, "but not much, Zabini.  Care to explain it to us?"

          Blaise had a calculating look on his face.  He stared at Harry and Hermione for a moment, measuring them up, then came to a decision.  "The Death Eaters conducted an ancient dark magic ritual, to grow more powerful.  All of them were ordered to contact their first-born, and instruct them to travel to Malfoy Manor with a companion.  The parents were to make it seem to their children that they were going to be inducted as Death Eaters.  Obviously, they weren't, they were slaughtered as a sacrifice to the underworld," he paused, "that's all I know.  I don't know how they died."

          "Zabini," Hermione said, puzzled, "why didn't Crabbe go?  And Nott, and you, and Millicent Bulstrode?"

          Blaise glared angrily at her.  "Just because I am in Slytherin, Granger, doesn't mean my family is a bunch of Death Eaters.  I wasn't invited."

          "Did you want to be?" Hermione blurted before she could stop herself.  She shrunk back against Harry, as Zabini looked like he was seconds away from hitting her.

          "Yes, Granger, I snuck out in the middle of the night to meet with the Wonder Twins, because I had to tell someone how incredibly depressed I am about not being ritually murdered."

          Harry grinned, "We can take care of that."

          Zabini glanced at a decidedly goofy looking Harry, and burst into a smile of his own.  "Just make sure you finish me off by sticking me on a stake, Potter," he laughed.

          Harry broke into laughter as well, while Hermione felt left out of this bizarre boy bonding ritual.  "Yes, well… I apologize, Zabini," she said stiffly, "but you still haven't answered my question."

          Zabini and Harry stopped laughing.  "Is she always this much of a killjoy, Potter?" he asked Harry.

          "No," Harry replied, "she's usually a lot worse."

          They both proceeded with the hysterical giggles again, while Hermione scowled and contemplated what would be the most painful and embarrassing hex to inflict on them.  When the two sniggering idiots calmed down, Blaise finally answered her.

          "Why do you think they didn't go, Granger?  They don't want to be Death Eaters!"

          "So, you're telling me everyone murdered wanted to be a Death Eater?" she snapped, her eyes in slits, as she thought of sweet little Walter Sims.  Blaise sighed loudly, rolling his eyes.

          "Granger, didn't I _just tell you _that I don't know who is evil or not?  Some of them went because they were too scared to refuse; I know that's why Draco went.  Some of them were persuaded to go.  Didn't you read this part about 'bring a friend?'  A lot of them were tricked into going.  Why do you think Irene McDonough went?  She's not a Death Eater; she's not even a pureblood.  Patrice, or Adel, or Pansy must have taken her.  That's why Vince told me to hide; I was a prime target.  Irene and I are the only Slytherin sixth years without ties to the Dark Lord.  Vince and Millie and Nott knew they weren't going to go, but they pretended to the others that they were.  Then when they apparated to Malfoy Manor-"

          "They apparated from the dorms?" Hermione interrupted.

          Blaise waved his hand impatiently.  "Don't be stupid.  Of course they didn't, you can't apparate out of Hogwarts.  Haven't you ever read Hogwarts, a History?"  

          Harry loudly snorted.  He hastily pretended to cough when Hermione glared at him.

          "There's a secret passage out of the dungeons that leads out of the grounds.  That's where they apparated.  Anyway, all those summoned took someone with them and left, and Vince, Mille, and Nott just didn't follow them, that's all."

          "Why are you telling us this?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

          "Well, you are the Golden Duo, aren't you?  Always saving the day when something bad happens?  I thought you should know.  I would've stopped it- " and here Zabini gulped, his eyes looking oddly shiny, "but I didn't know.  I didn't know.  Vince only told me the details the next morning.  By then… he was so worried.  We were all worried.  Then the bodies showed up… you have to believe me!" Blaise exclaimed, suddenly frantic.  "I wouldn't have let them go!  I wouldn't-" 

"Zabini, calm down!" Harry said, alarmed, "we believe you!"

Hermione, who felt oddly touched at how upset Zabini was, said, "Yeah, Zabini, we know you are a good guy," while putting her hand on his arm.

          Zabini looked at her strangely.  "Thanks Granger, Potter.  It gets old, you know?  Everyone thinking you're this evil git just cause you're in Slytherin?"  Harry looked sympathetic, while Hermione patted Zabini's arm.  "Anyway, here I am whinging away, when that's not even the point," Zabini said roughly.  "There's something… something's wrong.  Something bad is going to happen at Hogwarts, really soon.  I heard… I heard Nott talking to someone in the common room fire.  I think-" Zabini looked grimly determined, "I think he's a Death Eater.  And I think there are more here at Hogwarts."

          Hermione gasped loudly, as a light bulb went off in her head.  "Harry, I've just thought of something.  Quick, recite that riddle you heard in your dream!"  Zabini looked at them as if they had suggested playing a quick game of croquet with Voldemort and his minions.  Harry nodded and started reciting.  Hermione stopped him after the second verse.

          "That's it!  Harry, Zabini, that's it!  'Beware the tangled webs the sphinx has come to weave!'  What do you call something that's tangled?" she demanded.

          "Er… a knot?" Harry guessed.  Zabini went a sickly white.

          "Yes!" Hermione yelled, "a knot!  As in _Theodore Nott!_  Beware Nott!"

          "The sphinx is Voldemort," Zabini said abruptly.

          "What?" Harry questioned, "How do you figure that?"

          "Sphinxes tell riddles, right?  Well, Vince told me Voldemort used to be called _Tom Riddle_."

          "You're right, Zabini," Harry agreed.

          "Say the rest of it, Potter," Blaise demanded urgently.  Harry complied, as Zabini stared at him intently.

          "Twins," he muttered.

          "What?" Harry and Hermione chorused.

          "_Twins_," Zabini repeated, annoyed, glaring at them as if they were being deliberately slow.  "'At your door the wolf will come to call, Mars must stop the fractured or all will crumble and fall,'" he recited rapidly.  "Mars is the father of twins, Romulus and Remus, who were raised by wolves.  Romulus killed Remus!  This has something to do with twins!" he yelled, his voice rising drastically.  "What twins do we know?" he demanded.

          "Well, there's Fred and George…" Harry began.

          "No, it's not them," Blaise snapped.  "Wait… there's two second years in my house, Barry and Leonard Van de Houser…"

          "Plus, Nott's there!" Hermione yelped.

          All three of them stared at each other, motionless for a moment.  Then without a word, they simultaneously wheeled around and pelted towards the castle.

**A/N Thanks to everyone for reading, please review, it means a lot to me!  Next chapter is ¾ already written, so it won't take me as long to update next time.**


	5. Memento Mori

**A/N Obviously, I do not own anything to do with Harry Potter.  If I did, I would currently be cackling gleefully while counting my hordes of money.**

**Memento Mori is a Latin phrase translating "remember you must die."**

**Thanks to my reviewers SpellboundWriter, (thanks for the tip about the reviews) JWD, (what was so bad about my grammar? The run ons are intentional) Nev/Wormtail, (you'll see, you'll see… mwah haha!) gothic_neelam, (Oh, I know British slang from watching BBC America, thanks for the praise!) Aliesha, (for such sweet begging) Hope2 (you reviewed twice! Special gold star to you! Thanks for the words of encouragement) and Sailor Moon Rose (yep, the riddle I made up myself, I will decode it next chapter, thanks for the props!)**

**Chapter Four Memento Mori**

**Staircase Leading to the Dungeons **

**12:43 A.M.**

            Hermione was in a state of panic.  She had no idea where the fabled Gryffindor bravery was, but she had a feeling hers had hung up a sign reading "out to lunch".  After their discovery, the three of them (Blaise, Harry, and herself) were running like people possessed through Hogwarts' corridors, not caring who they awoke or how much trouble they were going to be in, intent on reaching the Slytherin dungeons.  Hermione was getting winded trying to keep up, and was clutching a stitch in her side as Zabini bellowed at her to hurry.   Harry, using his abnormal super speed, was out of sight.  

            "Potter!"  Zabini yelled as they jumped down the stairs leading to potions two at a time. "You git, you don't even know where you're going!  Get back here!"

            Harry's voice echoed from somewhere ahead.  "Yes, I do, Zabini you prat!  What's the password?"

            "What?" Zabini shouted. "How could you possibly know where –"

            "We drugged Crabbe and Goyle second year, long story, don't ask!" Harry roared. "Now what is the bloody password?!"

            Hermione chimed in, "Harry, you can't go in without—AHHHH!"

"Hermione!"                 

            "Granger!" Blaise and Harry chorused.

            "PEEVES!" Hermione shrieked furiously. "We don't have time for this, get out of my way!"

            Peeves chuckled as he flipped through a series of somersaults.  "Well, should of thought of that, Miss Know-it-all, before you went gallivanting about after hours!"  He grinned and drew in a huge breath. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED!  STUDENTS UP TO NO GOOD!"

            Hermione ducked under him and sprinted towards Harry and Blaise, who were still a good one hundred feet away.  "Good!" she hollered back to Peeves. "Good idea!  Wake up the whole castle, call everyone down here!"  Peeves stopped yelling abruptly, looking highly displeased that he hadn't managed to upset Hermione.

            "Come ON, Hermione!"  Harry yelled as she skidded to a stop next to them.

            Blaise looked at the blank stone wall and said, "Fudge is a moron!  Now open up, you motherfucker!"   

            Even in Hermione's extreme anxiety as they all leaped into the Slytherin common room, she managed to be shocked at Blaise's knowledge of a Muggle swearword.  The common room was empty, but they could hear screams and thumps coming from both the corridors at the end of the room.

            "Granger, you take the right to the girls' dormitories!  Potter come with me to the left!" Blaise instructed.

            Hermione dashed to the back of the room, heading towards the right doorway, her wand out and ready for action.  She was a few feet away, and just starting to reach for the knob, when the door flew open and hit the wall with a bang like a gunshot.  Hermione barely registered that a boy was flying at her until he, just as startled as she was, rammed into her and knocked them both to the ground in a pile of limbs.  Hermione took a second to note that it was Theodore Nott crushing her, until a snarling Millicent Bulstrode (backed by seventh years Helen Waters and Edith Lodgeman, who in return were flanked by the entire female population of Slytherin) yanked him off of her.

            "You- you- you weasel!" Millicent spat, apparently so angry she was unable to think of sufficient insults. "You traitor!" She was crouching over a prone Nott, and punching him in the face with each insult.  The small, weedy Nott was dwarfed by Millicent's vast bulk, and Edith held his wand in her left hand.  

            The other Slytherin girls were pouncing upon him, delivering crippling blows while snarling and yelling and clawing like a pack of rabid wolves.  Hermione lay sprawled on her rear, propped up on her hands, jaw agape, as Nott became increasingly bloodied.  Hermione leaped up, wand in hand.

            "Stop it!  Calm down!  Stop it!  STOP!" she screamed in vain.  In desperation, she twirled her wand over head, swooped it to the left, and bellowed, "STUPEFY!" at the top of her lungs.  

            When she cast the spell, a strange sensation flowed through her arm that held her wand.  A huge burst of red sparks flew to the ceiling of the Slytherin dungeons (where Hermione had pointed her wand in her panic) and rained down like an exploding firework, effectively freezing the entire scene in front of her.  It would've been funny at any other time, seeing her classmates frozen in poses of varying absurdity, but she was quite stunned at the effect her spell had.  She had never seen the stunning spell work like this.  Hermione shook her head once to clear her thoughts.

            "What's going on here?" she demanded, hands on hips. "Well?  Is anyone going to answer me?"  It wasn't until Millicent shot her a contemptuous look that Hermione remembered she had immobilized all of them.  "Oh.  Er, sorry.  I'll just-"

            The boys' dormitory door blew off of its hinges, along with a mass of dust, a few stones from the wall, a lit torch, and three flying bodies.

**Slytherin Dungeons: Third Year Boys Dormitory**

**12:25 A.M.**

Barry Van de Houser lay awake on his back, on his four-poster bed located in the third year boys' dormitory.  He could hear the steady breathing of his roommates around him, punctuated with the occasional snore or two.  He was quite jealous and annoyed at all of them (including his twin brother Leonard) and their ability to escape insomnia.  He had been having horrible nightmares for days, ever since the Slytherins had shown up dead on the front lawn.  He vividly remembered the horror of that night, as he had stared, motionless for Merlin knows how long, at the faces of his housemates.  

            It was no secret that Barry and Leonard Van de Houser were not popular.  Being Slytherins, they were predictably shunned by the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws.  What was not so widely known, was the coldness of their own house towards them.  Barry was under no illusions as to why his housemates detested him and his brother; they were half bloods.  Their father, who had been a Slytherin himself, warned them about the jeers and insults they were likely to sustain.  Barry could remember it now:  

"_Now boys, you'll be in Slytherin, as that has been where all the Van de Housers have gone, but you two are going to get a hard time._  _There are going to be people there who don't like you because your mum is a Muggle.  Don't you listen to them.  They're just jealous that they don't have mums half as good as yours.  Don't ever be ashamed of who you are, and never deny your mother."_

Barry and Leonard had done their best to follow his instructions; although Barry thought even their father couldn't have known how bad it would be.  After all, his father was a pureblood.  There were others in Slytherin who weren't purebloods of course, and there was even a grand total of seven Muggle-borns in his house.  The problem was, out of desperation to escape being ostracized, quite a few half bloods or three-quarter-bloods denied their Muggle heritage, and acted as toadies to the purebloods.  Of course, everyone was aware of the fact that they were part Muggle, and they still received snide remarks from their so-called "friends", but in general they were not tormented nearly as much as people like the Van de Housers.  Not all purebloods were a bunch of prejudiced gits, but the ones who were made up for the others in spades.  

            Barry clearly remembered the incident in his first year.  He had been hiding in his room from some of his tormentors, huddled in the corner.  In his panic, he saw his door open, expecting his attackers, but to his immense shock, in walked a girl he had never talked to in his life.   He didn't even know that girls could get in their dorms; he knew from Kyle Stebbins' experiments it was impossible for boys to go in the girls' dorms.  The girl looked older than him, and was rather plain, with a washed out complexion, mousy hair, and a slightly crooked nose.   However, her smiling brown eyes and dimples almost made her look pretty. 

            "Hello," the strange girl said, "are you the boy that Bole and Derrick were chasing?"  Barry nodded, blue eyes wide.  "Don't worry, I got rid of them.  They might be sixth years, but they are as thick as they come."  She smiled, and walked over to him, crouching down.  "My name is Irene McDonough," she stated, "and who are you?"

            "Barry," he croaked out hesitantly.

            "Pleased to meet you, Barry," Irene said, holding out her hand, which Barry awkwardly shook.  "Now, why were those overgrown, hairy gorillas chasing you?"

            Barry hesitated.  He liked this nice girl, but he knew as soon as he explained she would become just like the others.  "I'm…" he faltered, ashamed.  Then he remembered his mum, who had just sent him and Leonard homemade ginger biscuits the day before, straightened his shoulders and said loudly, "I'm a half-blood," looking the girl straight in the eye.  He waited for her face to contort in disgust, and was shocked when she grinned wider.

            "Me too.  Is it your mum or dad?"

            "My mum," he answered, relieved.

            "Oh, it's my dad."  Irene sat down on the floor next to him, leaning against the stone wall.  "You know what someone told me once, Barry?"  He shook his head, interested.  "I was in my first year, just like you are now, and I was being teased by the girls in my year.  Out of nowhere, this seventh year boy came over and told them to bugger off and patted me on the back.  He was the seeker for Slytherin that year, a pureblood, named Terrence Higgs.  I had quite the crush on him, although that doesn't leave this room," Barry grinned and nodded.  "Well, he handed me a handkerchief, and said to me, 'Don't worry about those slags.  I mean, you are in Slytherin too, aren't you?  Don't you ever feel inferior to anyone.  After all, they say the Dark Lord himself, _and_ Harry Potter are both half-bloods.'"

            "Really?" Barry asked Irene with childish excitement.

            "Really," she beamed.  "If anyone ever bothers you again Barry, just look for me.  I know some pretty nasty hexes."

            Barry sighed as a particularly loud snore from the direction of Kyle Stebbins' bed brought him back to the present.  He remembered all those times he had wished, hoped, and prayed to whatever deities that were out there, that Draco Malfoy, Cade Warrington, Pansy Parkinson, Aidan Montaque, along with all of their cronies, would just disappear off the face of the Earth.  Well, he had gotten his wish, hadn't he?  Except the price was Irene McDonough, two girls in his year, and a number of his friends and housemates brutally slaughtered.  To top it all off, he wasn't even happy with his tormentors' demises.  Far from it.  He might have hated them, but he never wanted them _dead_.  

            Every night he had at least five nightmares, one of which occurred without fail every time he slept.  He'd be in the Great Hall sitting at Slytherin's table, and the door would open and Irene would walk in, blood dripping out of her mouth, and from the two holes in her body made by the stake.

            _"Look what you did to me Barry.  All those times you hoped and dreamed… aren't you happy now?" _she would say,and then she would laugh and laugh, a hysterical cackle, while blood spurted from her mouth and puddled all around her.  Then she would point to the table, which had been filled with food a second before, that now held all the dead Slytherins that had ever plagued him.  Except, they were still alive, being tortured by faceless figures in black robes.  The whole time they all parroted Irene:

            _"Are you happy now Barry?  Well, are you?  Isn't this what you wanted?"_

            He'd wake up screaming, covered in sweat, with Leonard shaking him awake, the other nine boys in their dorm looking anxious behind him.  So caught up in his misery was Barry, that he had failed to notice that his dormitory room had fallen completely silent some minutes before.  A faint rustle to his left snapped him to attention.  He sat up quietly, staring at his closed curtains on his left, head cocked to the side.  There it was again, a little louder.  Barry's heart sped up.  Maybe he was being paranoid, but his instincts told him something was very, very wrong.  

            He grasped his wand, extremely grateful that he had taken to sleeping with it these past few days.  He inched closer to the edge of his bed.  Barry's blood ran cold when he heard a strangled, highly muffled scream from Kyle Stebbins' bed.  Not thinking, his body on autopilot, he lunged out of his bed towards Kyle.  He immediately noticed that every one of the beds in the room had their curtains flung open, and every single occupant of said beds were lying immobile and silent.

            Barry saw this, but he was focused on Kyle's bed, where a shadowed figure stood over his friend, attempting to force-feed him a glowing blue liquid from a flask.  The figure's attention snapped to Barry, who was ready.

            "Petrificus Totalus!" Barry hissed, his spelling hitting his target.  He was quite adept at spells useful in dueling, as were most Slytherins, and his talent didn't fail him now.  The figure keeled over backwards, rigid as a board, onto the stone floor.  Barry pounced on the prone figure, snapping their wand in half.  "Malcolm!" he gasped, horrified.  A faint moan distracted him.

            "Barry…" Kyle croaked.  "Barry…"

            "Don't worry Kyle," Barry said reassuringly, "I'll get you out of this."  He tugged on the ropes binding his friend, and then froze in shock as he took a good look at Kyle.  He was covered in small, but deep cuts all over his body, blood oozing through his flannel pajamas.  _How in Merlin's name_… Barry thought, puzzled.  Then he spotted the flask.  It was spilled on the sheets; Malcolm had succeeded at making Kyle swallow some of it.  Some kind of Dark potion, it appeared.  With a furious yank, he freed Kyle and tried to think if he knew any healing spells.  

Kyle, whose skin had taken an unhealthy pallor, gasped though a bloody throat, "Barry… Leonard.  Leonard!"

Barry's heart stopped, as he remembered that all the beds in the room had their curtains wide open.  

"Idiot!" he hissed at himself, as he stumbled over to Leonard's bed in a panic.  He clamped a hand to his mouth, a strangled, piteous moan escaping his throat.

His brother, whom he had always shared everything with, was undoubtedly dead.  His eyes were wide open, his mouth in a grimace of pain or fear or both.  The worst part was his skin.  His entire body was covered in red, vicious looking burns.  It was dark and cracking in some places, his pajamas melted away in patches.

As Barry stared at the one person whom he loved more than anyone, he slowly raised his head to look at his other roommates.  Malcolm Baddock's bed was empty, as he was still immobile on the floor, and Graham Pritchard's bed was vacated as well.  _Oh, good,_ Barry though in his detachment, _I guess Graham got away.  Can't say the same for the rest of these unlucky bastards._  He let loose a hysterical giggle.  The six other Slytherin third years were all as dead as his brother.  One of them looked like he bit it the same way his brother did, while two others were covered in more gruesome versions of Kyle's wounds.  The other three were completely rigid, blue in the face and covered with frost and ice.  All were bound in ropes.  How sweet, Barry thought, becoming increasingly unhinged, Malcolm killed them all in trios, and he was saving the burning one for me, so I could die like Leonard.  He laughed loudly.  It all seemed rather hilarious, when he thought about it.  

A scream rang out from the fourth year's room across the hall, where it sounded like all hell had broken loose.  The door burst open, emitting a panic stricken, panting Graham Pritchard, who immediately locked the door behind himself.

"Malcolm!  We have to go!  Where's-" he stopped, as he saw an enraged Barry lunging at him.

Barry knocked the wand out of Graham's hand, and proceeded to beat the shit out of him, Muggle style.  He grabbed Graham's curly blonde hair that the girls loved so much, yanked his head up, then slammed it as hard as he could onto the stone floor.  Graham yelped, as Barry maniacally repeated his actions.   So caught up was he in bloodying sodding Graham's sodding hair that only a sodding poof would have, he failed to notice the bangs and yells in the corridor.

"Where is he?"

"I'll kill the little bastard!"

"Did you check the third year's dorm?"

"It's fucking locked!"

"Fuck!"

"Dammit!"

"Does anyone have a crowbar?"

"What the bloody hell is a crowbar?!"

"It's- oy, shut up you ponce, and get something heavy!"

Barry was sobbing, as he continued to slam the skull of the barely conscious Graham into the ground.  "Bastard!  You'll rot in hell, you pureblood scum!  I'll piss on your grave!  I'll-"

He was cut off as a pair of hands wrapped around his throat from behind him.

"Forgot about me?" Malcolm snarled in his ear.  "Should've killed me when you had the chance, filthy half-blood!"

Barry clawed at his throat, struggling mightily to overthrow Malcolm's grasp on him.  He gasped for air, his lungs begging for it, as he faintly noticed Malcolm seemed to be taunting him.  He couldn't breathe.  He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe!  _Mummy!   Daddy!_  He cried in his head_.  I'm sorry!  I'm sorry!_  And as Barry made his last, weakened effort to pry those vice-like hands off his throat, he thought, _huh.  So this is dying.  At least I'll see Leonard again.  And Irene!  Irene will take care of us in heaven…_

**Ravenclaw Tower: Common Room          **

**12:42 A.M.**

Morag MacDougal put her quill down with a sigh, and leaned back on the blue velvet couch.  She was finishing her essays for Snape and Professor Podmore (who had taken over for McGonagall) early.  While she was no Hermione Granger, Morag was the top student from Ravenclaw in her sixth year.  The difference between the two was that Granger worked hard for her grades, while Morag was naturally intelligent with a tendency to procrastinate.  Her mind at the moment was far away from schoolwork.  She was in fact, contemplating the question of would Seamus Finnigan _ever_ notice her?  

Morag pulled her legs up to her chin, and looked around the deserted common room, with it's blue and bronze colors sadly.  She really had no girl friends at all, because she was a tomboyish sort of girl, and not quite compatible with her roommates.  Su Li was all right, if not dull, but Mandy Brocklehurst and Padma Patil drove her bonkers.  Always incessantly giggling, with nothing better to say then how cute certain boys were, what so-and-so was wearing, and the newest hair care charms.  It was a mystery how the two of them were made Ravenclaws in the first place.  Lisa Turpin was her last roommate, and Morag detested her.  They had been enemies ever since the first day of first year.

So she had no one to lament her love problems to.  Oh, she tried talking to Terry Boot and Stephen Cornfoot, who were her best mates, but as they were boys, they were no help at all.  Morag was sick of being "one of the guys," a girl who was not even considered a girl, by the boys in her year.  She hade been made a Chaser for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team this year, and had been thrilled when finding out Seamus was made a new Chaser for Gryffindor.  Now, she figured, they had something to talk about.

Unfortunately, Seamus had the ability to turn her into a stuttering, tongue-tied mess, which Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein delighted in pointing out to her.  A scowl crossed her face.  She would talk to Seamus Finnigan if it was the last thing she ever did!  After all, what was she so afraid of?  There were worse things than being rejected by the guy you had been lusting after since third year, she reasoned, (although she couldn't think of any at the moment.)  Morag pulled her Potions essay towards her and started moodily sketching "Mrs. Morag Finnigan" on it over and over.  A blood-curdling scream shattered her concentration.

**Hufflepuff Girls Corridor**

**12:32 A.M.**

            Eloise Midgen stealthily crept down the yellow and black corridor from the seventh year girls' dormitory.  She paused at the door to the sixth year girls' room, then continued onwards.  She held no grudge against any of the sixth years; they had been kind to her, unlike the majority of students attending Hogwarts.  Eloise ran a hand over her spot-free face with a smirk.  Yes, they didn't tease her anymore, since she had lost weight, charmed her hair a bright blonde, and successfully rid herself of acne.  A lot of people had not even recognized her at first.  It had been shocking when the first boy asked her out, but as the weeks passed by, she was used to the sudden male attention.

            No, they didn't tease her anymore, but Eloise didn't forget.  She was a nice, shy, sweet girl when she arrived at Hogwarts, but no longer.  Years of taunting cries about her appearance, had finally unhinged her.  Years of binging and purging, of crying alone at night, had hardened her beyond recognition.  Everyone still thought of Eloise as the quiet, sweet girl she had always been, but they were gravely mistaken.

            Cracking the door that opened into the common room, she peered out cautiously. Unconsciously rubbing her left arm, Eloise swung the door fully open silently, and strode briskly over to the boys' door.  Eloise hadn't been a bad person, but things happen when people are mistreated.  Just ask Tom Riddle.  Eloise noiselessly skulked through the door, her wand out.  

            She grinned to herself in the darkness of the corridor leading to the boys' rooms, thinking of the past twenty minutes.  The way Heather Donahue and Missy Chambers had cried, and mutely begged her for mercy.  How the other seventh year girls had died, silently screaming in agony_.  Who's the ugly one now? _ Eloise thought triumphantly.  On her way from her room, she had taken out three of the fifth year girls, without waking anyone else in the room.  Sixth other girls were eliminated, out of the fourth, third, second, and first years.  Only the sixth year girls, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Megan Jones, Sally-Anne Perks and Daphne Greengrass were unscathed.  Eloise was twisted and vengeful, of that there was no doubt, but some sense of decency remained.  She didn't want to kill anyone who didn't earn it by being hateful to her.  She had hidden her lingering sense of morality well in the company of the Dark Lord and the Lestranges; they would have been far from pleased.  The orders for her and the other spies at Hogwarts had been to take out as many of their classmates as possible, by testing out the new Dark potions created by the Dark Lord himself.

            Eloise reached the seventh year boys dorm, and stealthily slunk inside.

            "Silencio," she whispered at each bed, and then twirled her wand in a complicated swirl, effectively binding all the boys in ropes.  She walked to the first bed on her right, and pulled back the curtains.  Tim Summerby, the Seeker for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, looked up at her with terrified eyes.

            "Eloise?" he mouthed in shock.

            She frowned, fingering a flask in her pocket.  Tim didn't deserve to be punished.  She leaned over and kissed him on each cheek, then closed the yellow satin drapes surrounding his bed.  She went to the next, and beamed frighteningly at whom she discovered.  Brad Dunstan.  She stroked his hair gently.

            "Perhaps," she whispered to him, "you should think twice about who you torment."  Eloise remembered all too clearly how Brad, who she had fancied for years, had asked her to the Yule Ball held two years ago.  She had turned up, nervous but glowing with happiness, to discover him snogging Missy Chambers on the dance floor.  

            Brad struggled, horrified, as Eloise pulled out a glowing green liquid filled flask.  "Open up," she murmured.  Predictably, he resisted, so she clamped a hand to his nose, pinching his nostrils shut.  "Can't hold your breath forever, Brad," she crooned.  He turned a magnificent shade of purple before he gave in and gasped for breath.  Eloise poured in the liquid, moving her hand to cover his mouth, forcing him to swallow.  She continued to smile as he twitched, then started silently screaming as his skin began to burn and blister.  Eloise watched happily until he was dead.  Then she moved on.

**Slytherin Dungeons: Common Room**

**12:46 A.M.**

            Harry raced towards the back left corner of the Slytherin common room, dodging leather couches and green and silver tables, Blaise half a step behind him.  He was in his action zone, and he knew what he had to do.  

            Ron should be with me, he suddenly thought, apropos of nothing.  But, at least I have Zabini, the git.  He and the git simultaneously yanked the door leading to the boys' dormitory open, both holding their wands in front of them.  They were greeted with pandemonium.

            It appeared to Harry, that the entire male population of Slytherin was conducting a Muggle mosh pit, minus the band.  There was screaming and shoving, and the whole corridor was packed.

            "Zabini!" Harry yelled over the deafening din. "What the bloody hell is this?"

            "I don't know, you're the Golden Boy, do something Potter!"

            Harry did the first thing that came to mind as he and Zabini struggled through the crowd to get where the confusion was focused.  He pointed his wand at his throat.

            "Sonurus!  FREEZE!" Harry's magnified voice bellowed over the crowd.  He felt absurdly like a Muggle policemen, all he needed was a badge and a gun.  "NOW.  WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE ALL DOING?" he added, at Zabini's urgings, "AND WHERE'S NOTT?"

            "What the fuck is Potter doing here?!" exclaimed a flabbergasted seventh year.

            Zabini shoved Harry aside and snatched his wand, pointing it as his own throat.  "I LET HIM IN.  WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!  NOW WHERE'S NOTT?"

            "Who the bloody hell cares?" yelped a fifth year.

            "Yeah!" chimed in a fourth year. "We have to get that little bastard Pritchard!"

            "But the door won't open!" bellowed a different seventh year.

            "Oh for the love of-" Harry grumbled.  He yanked his wand back from Zabini and plowed through the crowd to where the seventh year was, undoing the magnifying spell as he went.  He flicked his wand at the door. "Alohomora!"

            "For **_Merlin's sake_**_,_ Potter!" burst out Zabini, who had followed him there.  "I cannot BELIEVE you think Slytherins are that stupid!  You can't open our doors with 'Alohomora!'" he yelled, incensed.

            Potter looked at him with an infuriatingly superior expression on his face.  "Yes it will.  If we all do it together," he gestured vaguely around them.

            Blaise sighed, disgusted that a Gryffindor had outwitted him.  "Alright, you heard Golden Boy!  'Alohomora' on three!  One!  Two!  Three!"

            Unfortunately for Zabini, Harry never had been, and never will be, the brains behind the trio; a fact which became glaringly obvious when the eighty or so opening spells blasted at the door, right in their direction.  The door flung open violently, as Harry, Blaise, and the seventh year that had been standing next to them were catapulted through the air, while every door to each dormitory blasted open, including the one leading to the common room.

            "Well," commented Harry as he, Zabini, and the seventh year lied in the pile of rubble, with all of the female Slytherins plus Hermione staring at them; "at least it worked."

            Zabini glared.

**Hufflepuff Sixth Year Boys Dormitory**

**12:34 A.M.**

            Justin Fintch-Fletchley sat up in his four-poster bed.  He could've sworn he had just heard a noise outside in the corridor.  He slid off of his bed, pushing through his curtains.  He padded over to the bed opposite him.

            "Ernie," he whispered roughly, shaking his friend.  "Ernie," he said louder.  He heaved a sigh, and resorted to the only way guaranteed to wake up Ernie when he was in a deep slumber; jumping on top of him, while shaking his shoulders.  Ernie sprang up with a shriek.

            "Justin!" he hissed. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?" 

            Justin was about to answer when the curtains around Ernie's bed were yanked open, revealing a staring, slacked-jawed trio of Theseus Moon, Wayne Hopkins, and Sam Capper.  Everyone remained frozen in place, Justin sitting on top of Ernie, his hands clenching the collar of Ernie's pajamas, Ernie's hands on Justin from when he had tried to push him away, and the three other Hufflepuff sixth year boys staring in shock.  Finally Theseus Moon broke the silence.

            "So…" he said slowly, "do I even want to know?"

            "No," Sam Capper answered, just as slowly, while they all continued to stare at Ernie and Justin, " we really, really, don't want to know.  We didn't see anything."

            "Figment of our imagination," Theseus agreed.

            "We had too much butterbeer," Sam added.

            "Hallucinating," Theseus declared.

            "Just a dream," Sam said, still staring as if Ernie and Justin had sprouted horns.

            Wayne, who had remained silent, suddenly burst out, "Holy Hippogriffs!  I knew it!  Ernie and Justin are a bunch of poofs!"

            "What do you mean, 'you knew it?'" Justin asked indignantly.

            "Bloody Nancy-boys!" Theseus yelped.

:           "Couple of fairies!" Sam shrieked. 

            "Now wait just a minute!" Ernie interjected.

            "I can't believe you wankers!" Wayne hollered. "How long have you two been secretly shagging while we were in here?!"

            "Yeah!" Sam yelled. "Did you cast silencing charms, so we couldn't hear you all those times you were- and now I'm going to be sick," he groaned.

            Justin was enraged.  "So what if Ernie and I are poofs?" he demanded.

            "Justin!" Ernie shrieked in horror.

            "Well?" Justin spat out, ignoring Ernie's splutters.  "What's wrong with being gay?  So what if Ernie and I are shagging?!" he bellowed.

            "What- what-" Ernie choked out incoherently, while looking around wildly.

            "Is there something wrong with our love?" Justin ranted on.

            "Er, uh, no, not at all," Sam stammered.

            "Yeah, we're all right with it, mate, " Theseus added, embarrassed, "it's none of our business what you two do, we were just surprised, that's all."

            "Hold on!" Wayne roared. "We were not surprised!  Everyone knows Ernie and Justin are shagging!"

            "WHAT?!" Ernie bellowed, horrified.

            "Yes, well…" Sam said, "we'll leave you alone to um, yeah."  He and Theseus grabbed Wayne and closed Ernie's curtains.  Ernie turned to Justin, his face a frightening shade of red.

            "JUSTIN!  WE ARE **_NOT_** SHAGGING!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

            "Now don't be like that, Ernie!" Sam yelled from his bed. "Withholding sex isn't part of a healthy relationship!"

            "Well, maybe Justin did something bad!" Theseus chimed in from his own bed.

            "Justin!" Wayne said from his bed in the corner, scandalized. "You better apologize to Ernie right now!  Buy him some candy from Honeydukes or something."  
            "Oh, I can't stand it when they fight," Sam sighed.

            "JUSTIN!" Ernie said, still bellowing. "GET OFF!" 

            "Did you hear that?" Wayne said excitedly. "They made up!"

            "Yeah, they're shagging again!" Theseus yelped jubilantly.

            Ernie screamed in frustration, and tore out a chunk of his hair.

            "Whoa, someone's having fun!" Sam exclaimed.

            Ernie shoved Justin off and leapt out of his bed.  "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?  ARE YOU ALL A BUNCH OF HOMOS?!"     

            "Honestly," Justin scoffed, emerging from the other side of Ernie's bed, "you guys really need to get laid."

            They looked highly offended.  All five of them burst out at the same time:

            "I do NOT need to get laid!"

            "I have no problem getting sex!"

            "What are you trying to say?"

            "I am NOT a poof!  Is everyone clear on that?"

            "I was just pointing out how repressed you all are-"

            Their bickering was interrupted when the door flew open, emitting a bloody, panting Zacharias Smith, and a wild-eyed Eloise Midgen.

**Gryffindor Tower: Sixth Year Girls Dormitory**

**12:50 A.M.**

            Desdemona Macnamara, or Dez, as her friends knew her, was currently in the middle of a bizarre dream.  Madam Pomfrey was hosting a dance competition for the Professors in the Great Hall.  They were all doing their best to win, as they sashayed, swayed, and wriggled on top of the staff table, which had been made into a makeshift dance floor.  The students were screaming in crowds below the Professors, cheering and clapping.

            Snape was dressed in hula clothing, and shaking his bony hips vigorously.  Professor Flitwick was dressed as a cowboy, complete with wranglers, boots, chaps, cowboy hat, and gigantic belt buckle. He was flawlessly performing a line dance.  A scantily clad Madam Pince danced the tango with an also scantily clad Filch, who had a rose clenched in his teeth.  Oliver Wood was slow dancing with his broom, while an annoyed Viktor Krum repeatedly tried to cut in.  Professor Trelawney was belly dancing next to a can-canning Firenze.  Parvati and Lavender were going wild next to her in the screaming crowd, and Lavender fell into a swoon after Firenze winked at her.  Mrs. Longbottom, who had taken over teaching Ancient Runes, was wearing a hoop skirt and waltzing with a strangely dressed House Elf.  Sturgis Podmore had stripped down to a hot pink thong (almost causing a riot among the crazed, hormonal girls) and was receiving galleons stuffed into his scrap of clothing.  

Madam Pomfrey kept yelling disturbing things like, "Take it off, baby!  Yeah, shake it for me!" and "Who's your daddy?"

Hagrid appeared to be getting down with the Funky Chicken, while Professor Lupin reenacted the disco days of the seventies in his platforms and bell-bottoms. 

Just as Snape's grass skirt began to slide off of his skeletal body due to his frenzied hip-thrusts, Dez awoke with a start.  She was quite horrified at her subconscious, and wondered if it was possible to pour bleach on one's brain to rid oneself of disturbing visuals.  It was not, however, the terror of seeing a naked Snape that had roused her from slumber, but the fact that she was currently strapped to her bed with a length of rope, and couldn't make a sound.  

Dez's dark eyes widened in fear as she looked to her right, at Lavender Brown's bed.  A figure cloaked in black, hood up, was attempting to do- _something_ to her roommate.  Lavender was fruitlessly struggling, her mouth open in a silent scream.  

Most people in Dez's position would be beyond terrified, but Dez was not put in Gryffindor for nothing.  She inched to her left, the ropes cutting deeper into her skin, trying to ignore Lavender and the mysterious attacker and concentrate on the task at hand.  She strained another inch towards her nightstand, craned her neck as far as it would go to the side, and clenched her teeth around the end of her wand.  Lavender seemed to be putting up a good fight, and Dez desperately rooted her on in silence.  Her bindings were now so tight she could barely breathe.  With a slight gasp for air, she moved her neck in a good imitation of a wand twirl, and mouthed through her clenched teeth, "Finite Incantatum."  Her bonds snapped, and her voice was restored.  Dez lunged out of her bed, wand in hand, towards Lavender, whom had been freed of her restraints as well, and was now wrestling with her attacker.

 "Dez!" shrieked a voice across the room that Dez recognized as Tracey Davis. "Get out of here!  Get help!" 

 Dez wavered for a moment, then at Lavender's strangled scream of  "Go!" turned and sprinted out of the room, while Lavender's wrestling partner let loose a string of curse words and hexes.  

She yanked open the door and barreled up the stairs one flight to the seventh years dorm.  She burst inside, yelling for the Head Girl Vicky Frobisher and Quidditch Captain Katie Bell.  

"Vicky!  Katie!  Help me!  We're being attacked, come on!"  Without so much as a glance behind her, or an answer to their sleepy questions, Dez raced back down the stairs to her own room, slamming the door open violently.  Everything froze, as Dez took in the scene before her.

Lavender was lying dead on her bed in a gigantic pool of blood, her body twisted at an impossible angle.  Tracey was next to Lavender's bed on the floor, and had obviously been trying to help Lavender, when she was killed herself, her skull smashed open.  One question popped into Dez's head sharply; _where was the mysterious attacker?_  The answer became crystal clear when Dez was hit in the back by a curse, after hearing a muttered incantation.  

She dropped to her knees; her body felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out.  She clutched her stomach in agony, starting to heave up a substance that couldn't be anything except blood. 

 "Dez, Dez, Dez," a voice sighed in mock regret behind her, "how stupid it was of you to run for help.  Especially to the seventh years dorm."  Footsteps closed in behind her, as Dez continued to heave up her own blood while clawing at her skin.  "They can't help you.  Haven't you noticed no one ran to your rescue?  A friend of mine is taking care of those pathetic Mudbloods, half-bloods, and Muggle lovers."

Dez, who was now prone on the floor, dizzy and weak, looked up at the person who had murdered her friends, and was doing their damndest to kill her as well.  

"Parvati?" she croaked in shock.

"Surprised, aren't you?" Parvati taunted smugly.  "Who would ever suspect that dim-witted, giggling simpleton, Parvati Patil, to be a Death Eater?" she smirked and leaned close to Dez, whispering in her ear, "You should never underestimate people, Desdemona."  Then she swept from the room, leaving Dez in a pile of her own blood.

Dez was too weak to move at all, and as she heard a sudden explosion of yells from all around her, she knew they would be too late to save her.

**Slytherin Dungeons: Common Room**

**12:48 A.M.**

            Hermione froze in shock as she stared at Zabini, Harry, and a seventh year she was pretty sure was called Byron Something-or-Other laying in a pile of rubble.  Harry had said something she couldn't hear, and Blaise glared an "If-looks-could-kill-you-would-be-pushing-up-daises-right-now-Potter" look at him.  Harry looked over at her in surprise, and Byron What's-His-Face did a double take.

            "For the love of Merlin!" he yelped in exasperation. "What the _FUCK _is Granger doing here?!"

            He was cut off by the triumphant yells coming from the boys' corridor.  A gaggle of Slytherins burst into the common room, holding up a motionless figure with bloody blonde hair.  They paused in mid-step, as they saw the bizarre scene before them.  The Slytherin girls were still frozen in place, along with Nott, who was obviously getting the crap kicked out of him.  Hermione was pointing her wand at said group, and Harry, Blaise, and Byron Blankety-Blank remained on their arses in their pile of rubble.

            "For fuck's sake," a bewildered Slytherin boy said, "what the bloody hell is Granger doing here?"  Hermione blushed to the roots of her unruly hair when a good eighty or so Slytherin boys stared at her.

            "I can't believe it!" a disgusted Harry said. "There is a mass murderer running loose in your dorms, killing your housemates, and all you can say is 'What's Hermione doing here?!'  Why don't we start with, 'Why are you carrying that half dead third year?'  Then move on to-"

            Blaise cut off Harry's sure-to-be-long rant. "**_There's_** Nott!  I barely recognized him, what with the blood covering him and all."

            Harry glared.

**Ravenclaw Tower: Common Room**

**12:45 A.M.**

Morag was on her feet, heart pounding wildly at the first scream.  She hurdled over two ottomans and a side table, and then paused in indecision.  There was screaming coming from both doors; which way should she go?  She had just made up her mind and turned towards the boys' door, when a loud series of thumps followed by a girl sprawling into the common room through the girls' door distracted her. 

If Morag had reacted like a Ravenclaw, things would've turned out very different.  As it was, she unearthed a hidden sense of Gryffindor stupidity and recklessness she was not aware she had, and tackled the girl, pinning her to the floor.  It wouldn't be unfair to say Morag had attacked someone who had obviously just fallen down a flight of stairs, only because she recognized the girl as her enemy; none other than that bitch Lisa Turpin.  Morag (who was a Muggle-born) had forgotten all about wands and magic.  Lisa struggled, then brought her knee up sharply, driving it into Morag's stomach.  

Morag fell on her side with an "Oof!" of surprise. 

            She could clearly hear the girls yelling, now that the door was open, though she couldn't decipher their words.  Lisa snarled, and pulled out her wand.  As she did this, her left sleeve rode up her arm, and Morag caught a glimpse of a grinning skull.  Lisa opened her mouth to yell a curse, and Morag quickly grabbed her wand arm and twisted it the opposite angle it was supposed to go.  A loud snap rang out, Lisa screamed in agony, than recovered with a sneer, punching Morag hard in the face.  With a grunt of pain, Morag lunged up at Lisa, and the two went rolling around the common room floor, scratching and biting and kicking and clawing.

A herd of Ravenclaw girls clambered down the stairwell, shoving into the common room, wands at the ready.  The girl at the front of the crowd, who Morag recognized as an irate Padma Patil, cried

"Expelliarmus!" She caught two wands in her free hand, but failed in separating the snarling brawl on the floor.  More girls were pouring in the room, and boys started bursting through their door as well.  Morag felt hands tugging at her, trying to pry her apart from Lisa, but she ignored them, like she ignored the yelling voices.

"Impedimeta!" a male voice called, and Morag and Lisa flew apart violently.  Immediately, ten people were on Lisa, tying her up, and snapping her wand.  Padma Patil leveled her wand at the glaring, struggling Lisa.

"I'll give you one chance to answer this, Turpin," she said in a low, deadly voice, "then I will proceed right past interrogation and straight into torture."  Lisa's sneer suggested she would like nothing better than to spit in Padma's face.  "Now," Padma continued, "who else is in on this?"  Lisa looked less than forthcoming.  Morag was still sitting on the floor, panting hard and confused as hell.

"You better do what she says," Michael Corner interjected, "or you get the same as him." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at a crowd of boys who were carrying something.  

Lisa gasped in horror, her eyes widening.  Morag craned her neck to see what everyone was staring at.  

A group of boys were supporting a clearly dead fifth year, Derek Rogers.  Morag felt her jaw drop in horrified shock.  What was even more terrifying was the fact that every single Ravenclaw (sans Lisa and herself) had a look of grim satisfaction on their face.

            Morag found her voice, "Either I've gone insane, or the rest of you are looking giddy about a dead body," she said shakily.  Everyone turned to Morag, and the crowd of girls parted as someone made their way through.

            "He's a murderer," a disturbingly lucid Luna Lovegood spat, " as is this maggot," she nudged Lisa with her toe.  "We'll explain it later, this is more important."  Luna pointed her own wand into Lisa's face.  "Now answer Padma's question," she said calmly.

            Lisa, who was pale and shaking, darted a glance at Derek's stiff body.  "Nott," she squeaked, "him and Eloise Midgen are the ringleaders."

            "Who else?" Padma demanded angrily, shooting a few sparks out of her wand in her fury.

            "Um…" a clearly petrified Lisa said, "uh… Derek Rogers."

            "Well no shit!" Morag burst out sarcastically.

            "Shut up, Morag," Padma snapped.  "Who else, Turpin?  Hurry up!" she bellowed, shooting Lisa with a stream of boiling water.  

            Lisa screamed, then began babbling.  "Malcolm Baddock!  Graham Pritchard!  Parvati Patil!"

            Padma turned white.  "Parvati?" she croaked.  Lisa nodded vigorously.  Parvati turned her ghostly face to Michael Corner, who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the boys.  "Stay here with Turpin.  I'm going to help." She turned to the girls, "Morag.  Luna.  Come with me."

            "No way!" Michael yelled in outrage. "I'm coming too!"

            At least a dozen other voices spoke up angrily,  "So am I!"

            "Me too!"

            "You aren't going without me!"

            "Fine!" Padma snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously.  "You can come.  But the rest of you _stay here_ and make sure Turpin doesn't escape."

            A gaggle of heads nodded their assent, as a determined Padma swept out the portrait hole, her guard behind her.

**Third Floor Corridor**

**12:57 A.M.**

Argus Filch sat up groggily, his throbbing head in his hands.  He was apparently hung over, despite the fact that he remembered drinking only harmless pumpkin juice at dinner.  He groaned when he heard a meow next to him.  He looked over at Mrs. Norris, and did a swift double take.  She was lying on the ground, half asleep beside him.  They were in the third floor corridor, underneath a flickering wall mounted torch. Filch looked in puzzlement at his surroundings.

            "Something is wrong, my sweet," he murmured to his feline companion.  "The last thing I remember is patrolling these halls, looking for those snot-nosed little brats, and here we are now."  Filch gazed in wonder.  He wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, but Filch was no fool, either.  There was something seriously amiss at Hogwarts, and he'd be damned if he knew what it was.

            "Filch, you mangy devil!" a voice cackled from behind him.

            He leaped up, instantly recognizing that annoying voice.  "PEEVES!" he roared. "I should've known!  The Headmaster will finally have you out of here for this!"

            Peeves rolled his eyes and blew a raspberry at him.  "I'm hurt, Filch.  Here I am, going out of my way to do a good deed, and I get accused of treason," He lounged on his side in midair, grinning. "Which is pretty rich coming from you, seeing as how I found you asleep on the job."

            Filch made various rude hand gestures and spewed forth descriptive threats of revenge.

            Peeves sighed in mock annoyance.  "Now, now, Filchy-wilchy, let me tell you my message.  I think you might be interested to know, that it seems as if there's going to be a ruckus in the Slytherin dungeons around…now."

            Filch narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  "Trouble in the dungeons?  Is that right?" he said skeptically.

            "Yes," Peeves nonchalantly stated, flicking an invisible speck of dust off of his arm, "I ran into Granger and Potter, with that weird Slytherin, Zucchini, and you know wherever those two are, trouble follows."

            A gleam of joy alighted in Filch's eyes. "Potter and Granger, eh?" he said with relish.

            "Yes," Peeves yawned, "oh, and I think they really might be in danger, too."  At that, Peeves floated away chuckling to himself.

            Contrary to popular belief (and really, who could blame them?) Filch did not jump for joy at the thought of impending student death.  Oh sure, he hated the little sniveling bastards, and he was always up for a good spot of torture, but he didn't want any of the brats _dead._  Just in pain, really.  So it was with real panic in his heart that Filch sprinted off towards the nearest shortcut to the dungeons, a swaying Mrs. Norris at his heels.

**Gryffindor Tower: Seventh Year Girls Dormitory**

**12:49 A.M.**

Katie Bell drew her lit wand closer to her with a sigh.  She had had a brilliant idea for new Quidditch moves while dreaming.  Jerking awake, she had grabbed the closest sheet of parchment, a quill, and her wand to write it all down before she forgot her epiphany.  Her forehead was creased in concentration, while her hand flew across the parchment, her teeth gnawing on her lip.  

            They would need a small miracle to win the Quidditch Cup this year, Katie thought glumly.  Of course, they still had Harry, but he couldn't win the cup all by himself.  The Gryffindor team had been hit hard, not only with the graduation of its two star chasers, but also with the death of Ron Weasley, their keeper, and Ginny Weasley's disappearance.  Not to mention the horror of learning their former Captain and teammate, Angelina Johnson, had been murdered.  This left Harry (who was superb) as Seeker, herself (who was now considered Hogwarts' best) as Chaser, and Sloper and Kirke (who were pathetic) as Beaters. 

Katie had called for open tryouts the month before, and it still made her nauseous to think about it.  The only positive was the large turnout, which was negated by the fact that they all sucked.  Well, to be fair, Katie thought, they hadn't _all_ sucked, there were a few with potential.  Seamus Finnigan had been her one good find, he was the new number two Chaser.  Katie had begged Vicky Frobisher to play Keeper, but Vicky was Head Girl this year, and Katie was out of luck.  She had grudgingly made that annoying whiner, Geoffrey Hooper, the new Keeper.  What he had in talent he undermined by his constant complaining.  She had been two seconds away from murdering him at their last practice.   Third year Natalie McDonald was made Chaser number three, mainly because all of those trying out for the spot were equally horrific, and Katie didn't want to be the only girl on the team.

So, Katie was not looking forward to their first match against Slytherin.  Surprisingly, Hufflepuff would be their biggest competition this year.  Seeker Tim Summerby, Chaser Zacharias Smith, and Summers, their Keeper, were all returning this year.  Rumor had it that Captain Summerby had found a pair of third year girls, Eleanor Branstone and Laura Madley, who were supposedly Beaters on par with the infamous Weasley twins.  

            Slytherin was quite obviously going to be flattened by everyone, since the massacre had left only one player, Beater Crabbe, on the team.  There had been some, who had urged Headmaster Lupin to ban Quidditch this year, on account of all the death and mayhem.  Lupin had firmly disagreed, and was strongly backed, (oddly enough) by Professor Snape.  There had also been a huge outcry of anger from the students when hearing that Quidditch might be disbanded.  

            Katie heard running in the stairwell, followed by the dormitory door flying open unexpectedly.  She jumped at the sudden noise, her heart pounding, and yanked back her bed curtains.  Desdemona Macnamara, a sixth year, was bug-eyed and frantic in the doorway of her room.

            "Vicky!  Katie!  Help me!  We're being attacked, come on!" Dez shrieked hysterically.  Then without so much as a word of explanation, wheeled around and disappeared back down the stairwell.

            Katie sat open mouthed, staring at the now vacated doorway, and listening to the sleepy grumblings of her roommates.  She turned back to her bed, and snatched her lit wand from her pillow.

            "Nox," she muttered, leaping out of her bed, (located furthest from the door) wand in hand.  Carina Zimmerman was ahead of her, also holding her wand, and reached the open door first, closing it behind her.  "What the bloody hell are you doing?" Katie snapped at Carina.

            "I overslept," Carina said in an annoyed voice, as if _that_ explained anything.  Katie heard feet pattering behind her.

            "What was that all about?" Vicky Frobisher yawned in back of her.

            "Was that a sixth year?"  Razada Strauss said hoarsely next to Vicky.  

     Katie looked at a blank faced Carina.  Something was seriously wrong with this picture.

     "It was nothing," Carina said smoothly, "go back to sleep."

     Katie's eyes narrowed into slits.  "It was not **_nothing_**, Carina, now move out of my way!"

     "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Katie," Carina replied, in an unconvincing tone of regret.  Katie opened her mouth to snap something nasty when Carina raised her wand in a flash, and said evenly, "Crucio."

            Katie was dimly aware that someone was screaming, and that there were flashes of lights streaking over her head where she had fallen.  

_Oh God oh God oh God this hurts so BAD burning burning I'm burning and bleeding and breaking my skin is melting off my organs are collapsing God it hurts it HURTS _

Suddenly the curse was over, leaving her panting on the floor, her limbs in agony, her head throbbing, a ringing in her ears.  She lifted her aching head, and saw that both Vicky and Razada were dead.  Her other two roommates were furiously dueling with Carina, and seemed to be losing.  While she watched, one was blasted off of her feet, her head smacking the stone wall with a sickening crunch, and fell unconscious, leaving one defender. 

            Katie shoved a limp Vicky off of her legs, ignoring her friend's blank stare while fighting the rising bile in her throat.  Her brain had apparently been scrambled along with her body, and only one spell came into her mind.  She closed her eyes and saw Oliver Wood declaring his love for her that he had been secretly harboring for years.

            "Expecto Patronum!" she yelled at the top of her sore lungs.  A Gryffindor lion burst out of her wand in a blast of blinding silvery white, and leaped onto Carina Zimmerman, pinning her to the floor.  

     Katie was shocked beyond belief.  She had no idea what had possessed her to recall her fantasy of Oliver and cast the Patronus charm, but it had worked.  "Stupefy!" she yelled, pointing her wand at Carina.   Carina froze in place, and Katie's lion disappeared.  Lynn Darson-Hughes gazed at her in awe.

            "Katie… you… wow," she breathed.

            Katie jumped up with a grimace of pain.  "Come on, Lynn, let's go help Dez," she barked out, and ran out of the door to rescue the sixth year, Lynn on her tail.

**Hufflepuff Sixth Year Boys Dormitory**

**12:45 A.M.**

Justin gaped stupidly at Eloise Midgen, and a barely conscious, crawling Zacharias Smith.

            "Expelliarmus!" Eloise bellowed, her wand pointed at the five sixth year boys.

            "Protego!" Justin and Ernie yelled in unison.  The other three boys, Wayne, Theseus, and Sam, had not been in the D.A. the previous year, and were all effectively disarmed by Eloise, who had clearly gone insane.  Justin and Ernie gave each other a half glance and stepped forward side by side, blocking their unarmed roommates from view.  They both had their wands pointed at Eloise's heart.

            "Eloise," Ernie said, impressively calm, despite the fact that he had been ripping his own hair out not two minutes before, "care to explain yourself?"

            "Not really," Eloise said casually.  She was pointing all four wands at them.

            "Oh.  Well…" Ernie looked at Justin for support.

            "Petrificus Totalus!" Justin yelped.

            "Protego," Eloise replied, effortlessly deflecting his hex.

            "Tarantellegra!" Ernie yelled, losing his head completely.

            Eloise simply stepped to the right.  "Imperius," she intoned softly.

            Justin lunged to his left, banging his knee on the floor, barely avoiding the curse whizzing past him.  Ernie, it appeared, had flung himself at the nearest bed, and was swinging from the canopy like a monkey, his feet dangling off of the ground.  As panicked as he was, Justin was tempted to laugh at the goofy picture his friend made, till he noticed Sam Capper had not been as lucky as the rest of them.  He was standing dreamily in the middle of the room, his eyes blank, sporting a blissful, small smile. 

Eloise pulled a silver dagger from her pocket, and tossed it to Sam, who caught it one-handed.  A growing sense of horror had enveloped Justin in the fifteen seconds since he had fallen to the floor.  Eloise stalked forward, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sam.  As Justin clutched his wand, and prepared to cast a spell, Sam's dagger glinted brightly as he spun to his left, plunging it into Wayne Hopkins' heart.

            Ernie, Justin, and Theseus reacted at the same time.  Theseus and Ernie both frantically stumbled over to Sam and Wayne, who had a look of immense shock on his face.  A trickle of blood escaped his mouth, his shirt reddening rapidly.  Justin, meanwhile, had done the smart thing, and attacked Eloise.  He tackled her to the floor, further injuring his scraped knee.  She turned her wand on him and shouted 

            "Crucio!" 

            Justin was blasted off of his feet, and writhed on the ground, screaming in agony.  Sam pulled the eight-inch dagger from Wayne's heart, and drew back his arm to plunge it into him again.  Theseus grabbed his raised arm, and Ernie attempted to knock the dagger out of Sam's hand.  Sam punched Ernie in the face with his free hand, breaking his nose with a resounding crack, while Eloise lifted the curse from Justin and laughed.  Justin lay panting, his body throbbing in agony, as he heard Eloise scream the curse again.  Theseus and Sam wrestled on the ground, Ernie, blood pouring thickly from his nose, attempting to help.  Wayne mouthed soundlessly, a bubble of blood bursting from the side of his lips, and collapsed into a bloody heap. 

            Eloise stared at a screaming Justin triumphantly, wand trained on his writhing form.  Out of nowhere, a leg kicked her in the back of her knees, and she went down hard.  Zacharias Smith had summoned the last of his energy to deal the blow, saving Justin from imminent insanity or death.  Justin sat up slowly, his body loudly protesting his moving, as Eloise, shrieking with rage, turned on Zacharias.  Justin grasped his fallen wand, slipping around in his sweaty hand.  

Across the room, Sam hit Ernie hard, knocking him out of the way, then pinned Theseus beneath him, and brought up the dagger.  Theseus' eyes widened in horror, as Justin and Eloise both swung their wands and cast their spells.  Zacharias screamed when hit with Crucio, as Sam simultaneously thrust the bloody dagger into Theseus' heart.  Justin's spell hit Eloise dead on, flinging her off of her feet, and into the stone wall headfirst.  She lay in a pile of rubble on the floor, unconscious.  

Justin dimly noticed that Ernie and Theseus were both screaming.  Sam's eerily blank face changed, as he gasped in terrified shock when glimpsing the dagger protruding from his friend's chest.  Grasping the handle, he yanked the dagger out, and then pulled off his pajama top, holding it against Theseus in a desperate attempt to staunch the blood flow.  Justin ran over to help when he realized Zacharias was either dead or unconscious.

            "Zacharias," he pled unevenly, shaking the seventh year.  "Wake up, Zacharias," he begged.  Zacharias looked dead, his face chalky white, his body twisted and blood covered.  Ernie was hysterically trying to rouse an already dead Wayne.

            "Theseus," Sam whispered, his voice cracking, "I'm sorry Theseus, I'm so sorry," he sobbed brokenly, tears streaming down his face.

            "Justin!  Behind you!" Ernie suddenly bellowed.

Justin's world tilted crazily as he was tossed away from Zacharias onto his back.  Eloise Midgen stood over him, a large knot swelling on her scalp, blood running into her eyes from a large gash on her forehead.  She pointed her wand at Justin's heart, and bared her teeth in a snarl of rage.

"Avada-" she started, when interrupted by the door flying forward off of its hinges, onto the floor.  There stood a group of furious Hufflepuffs, armed and running forward into the room.  Eloise immediately plunged her hand in her pocket, and promptly disappeared into thin air.  

Susan Bones and Daphne Greengrass hauled a stunned Justin upright, as the rest of his saviors streamed in his dorm to help the injured sixth years.

**Slytherin Dungeons: Third Year Boys Dormitory**

**12:52 A.M.**

Hermione's stomach was performing a series of impressive acrobatic flips.  She was currently in the third year boys' room, next to Zabini and Harry.  Zabini looked to be in a state of shock, and Harry was so pale his lips had even lost color.  They had already inspected the fourth years' room, along with a group of Slytherin boys.  Byron Thingamajig was rapidly explaining what had happened before the three of them had shown up.

            Graham Pritchard had snuck into the fourth years' dorm, successfully murdering seven of its occupants before the six remaining fourth years caught him.  Graham had raced back to his own dorm, and locked the door.  Here Byron Whosit faltered.  A seventh year named Chris Jones picked up the exposition.

            "While you three," he gestured at Byron So-and-So, Blaise and Harry, "were flying out to the common room, we were storming in here to catch that son-of-a-bitch Pritchard." A few Slytherins nodded their agreement with Chris.  "We found him almost dead on the floor, his head covered in blood." His brisk manner wavered.  "One of the Van de Houser twins, not sure which," Chris pointed to the boy laying facedown on the floor, "apparently was the one who turned him into a bloody pulp."

            "Who killed Van de Houser?" Blaise demanded.

            Chris looked intensely annoyed.  "How the bloody hell are we supposed to know?" he snapped.

            Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Obviously," she broke in with a condescending tone, "someone else was in here, and stopped him from killing Pritchard by strangling him.  See the wand?" she pointed over to the snapped wand by Kyle Stebbins' bed. "That's not Pritchard's, you said you found his wand on him, and Van de Houser's is right next to him."

            Hermione's speculating was interrupted by a low moan from one of the beds.  A gaggle of Slytherins rushed over to the bed the noise came from.  

            "Stebbins is still alive!" a fifth year yelped.

            In the mass pandemonium that ensued, what with the hollers for bandages and for anyone who knew healing spells, coupled with the running and shoving, Hermione glanced at Harry.  He visibly pulled himself together from his former stupor, and took charge.

            "What the blazes are we doing?!  We're sitting here, doing nothing, while the rest of the school is probably under attack!  They have it under control!" he bellowed, gesturing at the frantic Slytherins.  A few of them had paused staring in bafflement at Harry.  "Come on!" Harry hollered to her, which was quite unnecessary, as Hermione was standing right next to him.  He turned on his heel and sprinted out of the room.  Hermione took a half second to recover from shock then raced after him.  

            They flew down the corridor, into the common room, passing the pile of rubble, and across to the entryway.

            "Granger!" a voice suggested from behind them. Shouldn't you fix the girls before you go?"

            Hermione and Harry looked back and saw, to their complete surprise, Zabini, flanked by at least twenty boys, right behind them.  There was a brief moment of unspoken communication and agreement between the two of them and the Slytherins.  They all knew Gryffindors and Slytherins didn't mix, no matter what, but none of them cared about the old rules and prejudices anymore.  All of them had suffered, and they were in this together: Mudbloods, mixed bloods, and purebloods.  

            Hermione felt herself turn red again when she realized she had never unfrozen the stupefied girls.  "Finite Incantatum!" she yelled, pointing her wand at the back of the room.  Instantly, Nott was slammed with five or six punches and a few swift kicks, including one to a delicate area, delivered by Millicent Bulstrode.  The boys winced simultaneously.

            The group by the exit turned back around as Harry jumped through the entryway, followed by Hermione and Blaise.  They were all sprinting, high on adrenaline, through the dungeon corridors, when Harry rammed into someone and fell over like a limp dishrag.

            "Vince!" Zabini yelled in shock.  

Crabbe was standing in the middle of the corridor, a stupid look of guilt on his face.  His arms were loaded with pastries, which he attempted to hide behind his back.

"Uh-uh-uh- Blaise!" he stammered, eyes darting around wildly. "It's not what you think!  Really, I don't have any idea where the kitchens are, honest!  I was, uh…"

"Crabbe!" Harry roared while scrambling to his feet, "We could not possibly care any less about your midnight gorging!  Either move out of the way, or come with us!"  With that, Harry took off running again.  A stunned Crabbe was jerked into movement when Zabini grabbed his arm and dragged him along. While they raced up the first flight of stairs, Hermione heard Zabini remark,

"Only you, Vince, would miss a gigantic bloodbath because you were eating éclairs!"

Harry yelped in pain up ahead as he again barreled into someone and fell down a few stairs.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked while dashing over to help her friend up.

"Filch?!" exclaimed Byron Whatchamacallit loudly, "Oh, now_ this _is too much!"

Hermione thought she had never been so glad to see the nasty old maniacal caretaker in her life.  Harry repeated his line about moving or helping, and shoved past Filch up the stairwell.  They were all flabbergasted when Filch wheeled around and tore after Harry, yelling,

"Follow me, Potter!  I know this castle better than you do!"

"Fine!" Harry's voice echoed from up ahead. "We're going to Gryffindor tower!"

The herd of Slytherins, along with two Gryffindors, one caretaker, and a tipsy cat, burst through the door into the entrance hall of Hogwarts.  Filch made a sharp turn away from the marble staircase and ran towards a faded tapestry.  He yanked it aside and disappeared, followed by the rescue party.


	6. Consequences of Neglecting the Sta

**Disclaimer: Do I own HP? I'll give you three guesses...**

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, I will have a longer chapter for the next update. Basically, in the past few months, I have had to study or risk failing college and losing my scholarship, dealt with a broken computer, writer's block, moved, and gone through two hurricanes. So... yeah. Next update should be in a week or two. **

**Thanks to my beta Normio, and my reviewers. I will have extended replies to my reviewers next chapter.**

**Chapter Five Consequences of Neglecting the Stairmaster**

**Second Floor Corridor**

**12:55 A.M.**

Morag MacDougal hurried down the second floor corridor near the Ravenclaw tower. She was so anxious, she couldn't run. Their group of thirty or so Ravenclaws were huddled together in a pack, all with their wands out and trained at a different spot. The people covering the rear (who essentially had to shuffle backwards) were the ones holding them up. They had decided to journey together to a spot equidistance from the Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin dormitories. They would then split up into three groups and head to each house, since they were unaware where their help was most needed.

There was just one flaw in Padma and Michael's brilliant plan, Morag thought sarcastically. None of them had any idea where the Hufflepuff and Slytherin dormitories were. They only knew where Gryffindor was because Michael Corner had dated Ginny Weasley last year. Even Cho, (who was towards the front of the group) had no idea where the Hufflepuffs were. Morag had tried repeatedly to point this small flaw in their plan out, but everyone kept telling her to shut up. The group dashed over to the stop of the marble staircase, and skidded to a halt.

"Right," Padma barked out, "everyone split up into three equal groups, and head to your designated dormitory. Everyone clear? Good," she finished, as the herd of Ravenclaws split themselves up.

"Alright," Michael Corner ordered, "you lot," he pointed to Cho's group, "go to Slytherin. You," he gestured at Luna and Morag's group, "go to Hufflepuff. We're," Michael indicated his and Padma's group, "going to Gryffindor tower. I'll lead the way. Any questions?"

"Yes," said Morag loudly, without raising her hand. A few people looked around at the speaker, and rolled their eyes upon spotting her. "How, exactly, are we going to _find_ the Hufflepuff and Slytherin dormitories?"

"Obviously," Michael started, annoyed, "we..." he stopped as a look of dawning comprehension crossed his face. "Err... actually...I haven't the slightest idea."

"So," Morag said in a sickly sweet voice, "shouldn't we _all _go to Gryffindor tower, seeing as that's the only dormitory we know the location of, as I've been saying for the past ten minutes?"

Michael and Padma at least had the courtesy to look embarrassed.

"Right," said a red-faced Padma, "new plan, we're all headed to Gryffindor tower."

"Actually," Luna Lovegood spoke up, her voice rapidly regaining its former dreamy vagueness, "I was wondering how we were going to get _into_ the Gryffindor dormitory."

Michael opened his mouth, paused, and then stuttered, goggling, "I have no idea."

Morag groaned. "I thought we were supposed to be the _smart_ house," she grouched.

"Well-"Padma started to snap angrily, before being silenced by what sounded like a herd of stampeding elephants.

The Ravenclaws' heads swiveled simultaneously towards the door leading to the kitchens. It banged open suddenly, emitting a swarm of pyjama-clad students, who Morag recognized as Hufflepuffs. Justin Fintch-Fletchley and Susan Bones led the charge, followed by Ernie MacMillan, Hannah Abbott, Daphne Greengrass, Sally-Anne Perks, Megan Jones, and twenty or so others. A sickly white pair of Sam Capper and Summerby, the Hufflepuff seeker, brought up the rear. The swiftly moving group was half way up the marble staircase before they looked upwards and registered the open-mouthed Ravenclaws frozen at the top.

"MacMillan!" Morag heard Anthony Goldstein yell from behind her, "Are you lot alright? There was an attack in our dorms!"

"Ours too," Fintch-Fletchley replied as the groups converged. "We have it under control. We're on our way to Gryffindor tower."

"So are we," Michael said as the Hufflepuffs pushed through the group and began to hurry away. He raised his voice, so Justin could hear him, "We were going to-"he paused, and gestured to the rest of the Ravenclaws to follow the Hufflepuffs, (Morag, Luna, and Cho had long since left) "rescue you and the Slytherins as well, mate, but-"

"You know where the Slytherin's dormitories are?" Susan Bones called back to him.

"No," Luna replied dreamily. "Nor did we know where yours are." The group dashed past countless classrooms, portraits, and clanking suits of armour.

"Yes, we only know where the Gryffindors are as well," Hannah Abbott said breathlessly. "I hope the Slytherins will be alright."

Scattered conversations and information sharing commenced between the rapidly mixing groups as they scurried up a rickety wooden staircase. Morag was towards the middle of the group with Sam Capper and Summerby, both of whom she had grabbed and started dragging to the front.

"I'm a murderer," Sam said woodenly out of nowhere. Morag turned in shock to the dark-haired boy, who was so pasty white only his freckles held any colour.

"What?" she said surprised. He turned his eerie brown eyes upon her with a woebegone expression. Sam looked like a kicked puppy, thought an alarmed Morag.

"I murdered my best friends," he said monotonously. Morag glanced at Summerby for a clue as to what was wrong with Sam, but he too looked like a walking corpse, with his blanker than blank face. "I can feel it, you know," Sam said almost conversationally. "The way it felt to stab their hearts with that dagger." Morag did a double take. "The way their blood felt on my hands; warm, and sticky, and smelling so disgustingly sweet. I can hear the knife tearing through their flesh, and muscles, and bones," he continued emptily.

"Sam," Morag interrupted shakily, "What are you talking about?" The group passed a statue, and a loudly insulting portrait and continued upwards.

"I told you," said Sam, showing the first sign of life with his annoyance, "I killed Theseus and Wayne. Justin and Ernie keep saying it's not my fault, and that Eloise put me under Imperious, and not to feel bad. But I did kill them. I was too slow to move out of the way, and too weak to fight it off."

Morag was speechless. "Sam..." she managed to croak out, fumbling in the gloom for his shaking hand, "Sam..." It seemed all she could say. Sam turned tormented eyes to her face, but he didn't let go of her hand.

They ran in silence for the next few minutes, then turned a corner and hurtled to a crashing halt in front of a large portrait of a hefty woman in a pink dress that Morag had never seen before. Morag pushed to the front of the crowd, next to Michael, Luna, Padma and Cho, still tightly gripping Sam's hand and Summerby's arm. Michael was shouting out words with frustrated urgency, as the Fat Lady eyed them all suspiciously.

"Mimbilus Mimbletonia! Come one, that's what it was last year! Let us in, it's important!" The Fat Lady raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"None of you are Gryffindors, and you do not know the password. I won't let you in," she said firmly. Michael turned to them with a desperate look, and they all began shouting random phrases at the stubborn portrait.

"Godric Gryffindor!"

"Bravery! Chivalry! Nerve!"

"Dumbledore's Army!"

"The-Boy-Who-Lived!"

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

"Stupid recklessness!"

"Weasley is our king!"

"Slytherins are a bunch of slimy bastards!"

"Snape is a greasy git!"

"We all love Hagrid for some reason!"

"Harry Potter is a sexy beast!"

More and more voices joined the shouting, until the hallway was filled with deafening yells and echoes. Luna turned to Morag as their classmates continued their arguing, pleading, and threatening of the fat lady.

"Does it strike you as odd," she said mistily, "that we have raced through half the castle, made an unhealthy amount of noise, and yet not seen one prefect, ghost, teacher, or even Filch?" Morag frowned. Sure, Luna was a bit dotty, but sometimes her ramblings made a lot of sense.

"You're right," she said to her fair haired companion, "and I don't see half of our prefects either," she gestured to the crowd.

It was at that moment, when the herd in the corridor was verging on hysteria, that the Fat Lady swung forward violently on her hinges, (knocking a few students to the ground) and emitted sixth years Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, and Seamus Finnigan, (the object of Morag's undying love.) They were clambering hurriedly out of the portrait hole when they stopped dead upon seeing fifty or so of their classmates (a quarter of whom were lying on the floor in a pile.) Padma sprang to her feet.

"Finnigan! Thank Merlin. We came to help, let us in!"

A shocked Dean replied, "How did you- never mind. There's nothing you can do to help. We're going to get Professor Lupin and Professor Podmore."

"Good luck with that," Luna said slowly, "I think the teachers and staff have been taken out."

"Yeah," Morag added, "we ran through most of the castle, and we haven't seen anyone, not even Filch or Peeves."

"Right," Dean said briskly, "everybody in then, don't want to linger in the halls if something is out there."

"Er... can we all fit?" Susan Bones asked cautiously.

"Yes," Seamus said promptly, "it will be squashed, but none of the girls are in there, so-"

"What?" Padma barked. "What do you mean 'none of the girls are in there?'"

Dean rolled his eyes. "They are not in the _common room_ Patil."

Neville Longbottom suddenly spoke up. "Everyone should really get inside now," he said softly, while looking fixedly at the floor. "The girls can help us, Dean." This statement caused Seamus and Dean to sport expressions that brought to mind a cartoon light bulb pinging on over their heads.

"Brilliant, Neville! Quick, everybody in!" Seamus gestured.

The three Gryffindor boys leaped back through the portrait hole, and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws started to pile in. Morag pulled Summerby and Sam through, the Fat Lady's bark to hurry up ringing in her ears. She glanced around the common room, impressed. It was very similar to the Ravenclaw common room, but somehow seemed more welcoming with the red and gold colour scheme.

The Gryffindor boys were huddled in a huge group by the fireplace, and appeared to be arguing about something. The last student entered the room, and the Fat Lady slammed shut with an irritated bang. The Gryffindors looked over in shock.

"Oy, Finnigan!" a seventh year yelled. "What the bloody hell is going on? We sent you three to go get Lupin, and you bring back a bunch of know-it-alls and duffers instead?" Morag noticed she wasn't the only one who looked furious.

"Oh yes, our apologies for risking our necks to come and save yours," she snapped sarcastically. A few angry murmurs of assent came from the group.

"Yes, really Hooper, shut up," Dean Thomas commanded.

Seamus had looked over at Morag with everyone else when she spoke up, and he continued to look at her strangely. Her heart leapt, then Seamus turned back to Dean, and her stomach promptly nose dived when she realized she was still holding both Sam's hand and Summerby's arm. She groaned out loud and received yet more strange looks.

"Look, Thomas said, taking charge, "we guys weren't attacked, so we don't really know what's going on. The girls' door," he waved his hand at a door on the right side of the room, "sealed itself off, and they're all stuck in there."

"Not like we could get in there anyway," Seamus interjected, "only girls can go up there, it's enchanted." All the boys in the room nodded wistfully.

Screams pierced the silence of the common room, screams and yells and bangs. Padma once again took charge.

"Alright, girls over here, we're going to break the door open and storm in," she said brusquely. The boys moved aside as the girls congregated around the door leading to the stairwell. "Wands out, watch each others backs, and don't panic. No one goes off alone," Padma ordered. Her forceful manner faltered. "Also," she said with a pained grimace, "to those who aren't in Ravenclaw, Turpin confessed some Death Eater's names. My..." she cleared her throat, "my sister Parvati is one. Try to hex her instead of me" A few people snickered. "Let's-"

The door flew open, smacking Padma and Cho in the face, and knocking them down. A group of three or four girls tumbled down from the stairwell and onto the two fallen girls.

"Oh my God," Hannah Abbott gasped. "They're dead!"

Daphne Greengrass yanked Cho, who was sporting a blackening eye, and Padma, whose lip was bleeding profusely, to their feet. Padma didn't even look down at the dead girls; instead she turned on her heel and barreled up the stairs as chaos erupted below. Morag stared at the now empty stairwell, in shock with everyone else. She saw Luna Lovegood turn to her in her peripheral vision. They locked eyes, nodded once, and jumped over the dead Gryffindors after Padma.

**Gryffindor Girls Stairwell**

**1:02 A.M.**

Katie Bell hurtled down the stairs to the sixth year's dormitories two at a time, Lynn Darson-Hughes on her tail. She burst into the sixth year's room, and halted so suddenly that Lynn rammed into her forcefully, making them both stumble.

"Katie, what..." Lynn started to ask before looking upon the scene before them. A strange noise, somewhere between a squawk and a moan sounded from her throat.

Katie took in the scene before them in stunned silence. When her eyes rested upon Dez - whom she had seen alive not five minutes previously - chalky white, claw marks on her skin, laying in a pool of her own blood, Katie turned and dragged Lynn out of the room with her. She knew there was nothing they could do for the sixth year girls, and she also knew she would snap if she thought about them for even a second.

Lynn was whimpering behind her as they continued downwards. They turned a bend in the stairwell and saw pure chaos before them. A fierce battle was raging in the steps, a group of first and second years – with a smattering of third, fourth, and fifth years mixed in – were dueling with a hooded figure in the middle of the crowd. By her size, the mysterious stranger was clearly older than the others, and far more knowledgeable. She was more than holding her own against the panicked girls, many of whom were unarmed. Katie turned to Lynn. They had not yet been spotted in the shadows.

"Lynn," she whispered urgently, "we're the only ones who can take her out." Lynn nodded, her eyes wide with fear.

"Katie, we can't get a clear shot," she hissed desperately.

"I know," Katie murmured back, "we'll have to charge through the group, and hope we don't get hexed." Lynn didn't look too keen on the idea, but gave her assent. "Ready?" Katie said quietly. "On three." The two girls watched as three second years were hexed. "One... two..." Lynn suddenly fell forward heavily on Katie's back. Katie stumbled and barely managed to keep them from falling down the stone steps, by slamming her shoulder hard into the wall to regain her balance. "Lynn!" she hissed angrily. "What do you think you're..." she trailed off, as she took a look at her glassy eyed companion. Lynn's dead body slumped to the ground without Katie's support to hold her up. Carina Zimmerman, wand pointing in Katie's face, was revealed in front of her.

**Secret Staircase**

**1:07 A.M.**

Hermione rasped for breath as she, Harry, Zabini, Byron Thingamabob, Crabbe, and the other Slytherins followed Filch upwards through a secret staircase. They all had their wands lit, since it was pitch black in the narrow staircase, and one never knew when a jutting stone or sticky cobweb would come in contact with one's body. The stairs themselves were covered in thick, indistinguishable coloured carpeting, which muffled their footfalls. Hermione was silently vowing to start getting in better shape after this was over. Her vision swam before her eyes, the staircase a blur of dark shapes and fuzzy lights. A pair of hands grabbed her around her waist, and hoisted her over a shoulder. Hermione squeaked in surprise and indignation.

"Granger, quit wiggling!" A suspiciously Zabini sounding voice said. "We can't have one of the Golden Duo collapsing in a hidden stairwell, can we?"

"Zabini put me down! This is degrading and patronizing and sexist, and I won't stand for it!" Blaise sighed as Hermione continued to struggle.

"Granger, do you really want me to leave you on the floor in a dirty stairwell? Because I will, if you don't stop being difficult. As Slytherins, we always tend to our weak," Hermione sputtered incoherently, "regardless of gender. I mean, look, they've got Crabbe back there," Zabini nodded to a few steps below them, where indeed, no less than five Slytherin boys were climbing with a reclining Crabbe over their heads. "Thank Merlin you only need me to carry you, or that would be a little embarrassing, no?"

"Shut up, Zabini," Hermione grumbled in defeat.

"Shutting up," Zabini chirped. Hermione _swore_ she could hear him grinning in the dark.

"You know Zabini," she said conversationally after a minute of silence, while still hanging upside down, "I think I liked you a lot better when I thought no one had ever taught you how to speak." Dammit, she could _hear_ the git grinning.

"You'd be surprised how often people tell me that," he replied cheerily as they all came to a stop behind a suddenly still Filch. A figure next to Filch – whom Hermione recognized as Harry from the wildly spiked hair- waved his arms for silence.

"All right," Harry commanded, "we're here outside the hallway with the Fat Lady."

"The what?" Hermione heard muttered from behind her.

"Crabbe's mum," another voice answered quietly.

"Oh."

"Are you listening back there?" Harry demanded, irritated. "Now, everyone get your wands ready, stay in groups, cover our backs. Hermione, you – "Harry paused in confusion. "Hermione? Where ... _Zabini_! Put her down, right now! And stop trying to cop a feel!" he roared. Blaise and Hermione both squawked in horror, and Zabini hastily set her down to her feet. "Yes, anyway, come up to the front with me, Hermione," she started pushing her way forward, "and I guess you can come too Zabini, you perverted bastard."

"Hey!" Blaise yelped.

"Okay, here we go!" said Harry when Zabini and Hermione reached him.

Filch opened the secret entrance, and they tumbled out into the corridor, diagonal and about fifty feet away from the Fat Lady. They rushed over to the portrait with the Slytherin boys at their heels.

"Password?" the Fat Lady snapped. She looked highly disgruntled about something, as she swept her gaze over the crowd. Harry opened his mouth to answer, and she cut him off before he could get a syllable out. "Oh, now really!" she shrieked, livid. "This is too much! Why don't you just tear me down and leave a big hole in the wall, so you can come and go as you please?" she snarled. Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances.

"Your portrait is nuts," said Zabini in awe.

"Nuts, am I?" the Fat Lady fairly screamed. "You're the ones trying to trick me into letting a bunch of Slytherins into Gryffindor tower for the first time in six hundred years! Did you think I wouldn't recognize them in their pyjamas? I can spot those snakes a mile away! I did not stand up to a psychotic Sirius Black," Harry stiffened, "to let-"

"Silencio!" Byron Whaddyacallit yelled. The Fat Lady mouthed soundlessly.

"Good one," Harry said approvingly.

"Tea cozy," Hermione barked.

The Fat Lady swung forward on her hinges, clearly against her will. The Wonder Twins leapt through the portrait hole simultaneously, only to immediately collide with a group of Ravenclaw boys. The Slytherins had already charged in after them, and a domino effect was occurring inside the Gryffindor common room.

"Hermione, thank God!" she heard from the floor. She squinted in the direction of the shout, and spotted Dean, Seamus, and Neville waving at her frantically from over by the door to her dormitory. Hermione ran over to them without a second thought, only vaguely hearing the shouted questions and explanations from all around. She pushed her way to her friends, which was no easy feat, since the common room was now so crowded everyone was standing smashed against those in their vicinity. Hermione finally squeezed between Dennis and Colin Creevey, and gasped as she spotted four dead Gryffindor girls laid out on the floor. Dean grabbed her arm.

"Don't think about it now," he said grimly, "we need you." Seamus nodded.

"The girls are locked in their dormitories, and you know we can't get in." Dean cut him off quickly.

"The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls went in to rescue our girls, but that was over five minutes ago, and no one has come back."

"Hermione," a pale Neville said quietly but firmly, "you are the best dueler at Hogwarts after Harry, you have to take out Parvati Patil, she's behind this."

"Patil?" said Zabini from over her shoulder. The boy had an uncanny knack for sneaking up on her. "That explains the whole twin thing, then. "

"You know what to do, Hermione," Harry said emphatically. "I know you can kick her ass."

Zabini, Neville, and Seamus looked bewildered. Hermione witnessed Seamus mouthing "kick her ass?" to Dean out of the corner of her eye.

"Er, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. And with that, Gryffindor's Golden Girl marched to her possible doom.


	7. Purple Goo and Bobby Socks

**A/N** A/N Disclaimer: If I was JK, I would currently be swimming through my pools 'o money, a la Scrooge McDuck.

There is one scene transition that doesn't make any sense. My word processor refused to let me delete it because it is a little bitch. Please ignore that one awkward line of .

Thanks to my reviewers, I love y'all! In response:

**gothicneelam-** You reviewed twice! How sweet of you. I imagine you saying "dude" sounds like me saying "bloody hell." Yeah, my mom adores BBC America. Americans only get it if you get extended cable though, like over a hundred channels. I'm assuming you are joking about the blood baths… otherwise, I didn't do my job right! You were supposed to be horrified, not inspired!

**Sailor Moon Rose**- Yeah, I really didn't want to kill off Van de Houser either. But I had to make it awful and upset you! Please don't take the fact that Parvati is evil the wrong way. It was really only b/c I wanted an evil twin, and Fred and George don't quite cut it. I wanted a Gryffindor as well. I hope you noticed that Padma kicks ass, at least. You reviewed twice as well! This makes me happy.

**LMAO-** Thank you! Yes, Ginny is evil. And it has nothing to do with my feelings about her after OoTP. coughcough

**Simply Myself**- I'm glad you thought the action was good, that's always the part I am most worried that it sucks.

**lupusregina-** yes I did just kill off a lot of the characters. I had to make it believable that Hermione would do something so stupid and risky. Thanks for the input!

**Zaralya-** Have I seen you at both TR/Hr boards and BZ/Hr boards? A girl (guy?) after my own heart. The true test: Are you a Hr/OW fan?

**Hermione874-** Maybe it is… maybe it isn't.

**Cinammon**- Why thank you! What a fabulous review. It made me very happy. No, it is not wrong to lust after Zabini. I quite understand. I'm glad you liked Morag and Katie and some of the other characters I fleshed out.

**bLOOMiEs69-** Such fabulous props! I am blushing.

**Lanhar-** Glad you are enjoying it. I'm partial to Slytherin/duo bonding as well.

**Avery-Rose-Rain-Slytherin**- Thank you! I'm glad you like the plot. I try to be different.

**TheDragonDancer-** What a great name! Nono, you weren't babbling, trust me I enjoyed it. Such high props! I'm all a-flutter. Yes, I've got a beta. I'll let you know if she bails on me, though.

**flea-** I'm glad you find darkness, scariness, and humor in this. That was my goal.

Chapter Six Purple Goo and Bobby Socks

**Gryffindor Girls Stairwell**

**1:02 A.M.**

Susan Bones charged up the spiral stone staircase leading to the dormitories in Gryffindor Tower. She was right behind Luna Lovegood, Cho Chang, Morag MacDougal, and Padma Patil. Daphne Greengrass was at her side; Sally-Anne Perks at her heels. Hannah and Megan Jones, her other fellow Hufflepuffs, were busy herding some of the unarmed, younger Gryffindors into the first year's dormitory for safekeeping. A number of other girls in their brigade had stayed behind as well; attempting to put the chaos below back in order. Marietta Edgecombe was leading an effort to help the hurt and hexed young girls.

It was clearly to their disadvantage, fighting in a spiraling staircase. A figure they assumed to be Parvati was well protected, ducking behind a curve in the stone staircase whenever a curse got fired in her direction. All of her adversaries remained in front of her, and were easy targets for her superior spell work. Hence the confusion and disarray from the inexperienced younger Gryffindors. Cho and Morag had managed to stop Padma's reckless pursuit of her twin in order to talk strategy.

"Padma, I understand your anger, but we can't just rush headlong to our deaths," Morag hissed.

"No, I really don't think you do understand how I feel, Morag," Padma spit. "Did you see Lisa kill Su and Mandy? Did you have to fight her off to save your own life?"

"Well, actually-"Morag interjected.

"Shut up," Padma snapped. "Is it your sister killing innocent people MacDougal? Don't presume to know how I feel."

"Exactly, Padma," Cho interrupted, "you're not thinking clearly. Stop and make a plan first, before we run into more disaster."

"Stop and plan?" Daphne exclaimed. "We don't have time for that! Stop and plan while the Gryffindors are being murdered?"

"There's no one behind her," Cho said impatiently, "we've got her cornered."

"You don't know that!" Susan cut in. "Where are all the older Gryffindors? Where's Vicky Frobisher and Katie Bell, where's Lavender Brown and Hermione Granger?"

"If Hermione Granger were here, Parvati would be stopped already," Luna said dreamily. "Harry Potter isn't here either; they must be off somewhere together."

"I knew they were dating!" Daphne exclaimed.

"Why don't they just admit it already? Everyone knows," Cho said exasperatedly.

"Wait a minute, what about Krum?" Sally-Anne said excitedly.

"You twits!" Padma roared. "Focus! This is not the time for gossip!"

Susan restlessly shifted from foot to foot. They were wasting precious time squabbling like a bunch of wet hens.

"Look, we'll have to charge her, that's all," Susan burst out. "We have to assume the worst, that there are people up there that need our help. Let's just-"

A scream from up ahead cut her off. Immediately, the seven girls bounded up the stairs as one, wands at the ready.

* * *

**Gryffindor Girls Stairwell**

**1:04 A.M.**

Katie gazed into the unyielding hatred in Carina's face, whose wand was pointed straight between her startled hazel eyes. Her brain wouldn't function. Her head was still throbbing from the Cruciatus, her mind trying to process Lynn's sudden death, while the hand of the Grim Reaper pointed in her face. Carina had just murdered all of the seventh year girls besides the two of them. She had both the power and hatred to Avada Kate right there. There was no time to defend herself by her own wand, and she sincerely doubted her currently sluggish reflexes would be able to remove her from harms way. That left one option: stall like hell.

"Why are you doing this Carina?' Katie asked.

_Yes, good one, Katie. In the movies, villains always take the time to gloat about their brilliance until the hero saves the day._

"Why?" Carina snarled. "Why? I cannot believe even _you_… well, I guess you are just a stupid Mudblood. To restore the power of purity in blood and name to wizards worldwide, of course. Everywhere, blood is counting for less and less."

"So?" Katie said in mock boredom.

"So? **So?!"**

"Yes, _so_. I fail to see your point."

"You would," Carina sulkily muttered. "We cannot have our ways regulated by our inferiors! Those who have Muggle blood in them cannot be in power."

"But why is having part Muggle blood a bad thing?" Katie asked, partly in desperation, partly out of genuine curiosity.

Carina opened her mouth angrily, then suddenly snapped it shut, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You're distracting me."

Katie had heard the phrase "her heart dropped" before, but never quite experienced it. Now, she had a shrewd suspicion her heart had first shot to her throat before nose-diving into her feet. In fact, it was possible her heart had left her body entirely.

"I…what? No," was her masterful reply.

"Yes," said Carina. And now, she looked angrier than she had all night. "Yes, you are. You're really pissing me off, Mudblood. I might have to teach you a lesson before I kill you."

"Isn't it kind of pointless to teach me a lesson I'll have learned for two seconds before I'm worm food?' Katie asked desperately.

Carina's faced actually contorted from the volume of her rage. Before Katie had time to utter one last desperate chance at distraction, Carina uttered one terrifying word.

"Crucio."

* * *

**Gryffindor Girls Stairwell**

**1:04 A.M.**

Morag skidded to a stop to avoid slamming into Padma. Before them was Parvati Patil and a fifth year Gryffindor. The ginger-headed girl was prone on the steps, being tortured by a malevolently grinning Parvati. The screaming was coming from an unknown source further up the stairwell. A purple glowing flask was in Parvati's hand, the liquid inside being forced into the shrieking girl's mouth. Morag was frozen in horror as the girl's skin gradually turned bluer and bluer. Frost began to spring up on her eyebrows and hair, her mouth was turning a horrifying shade of purple.

Padma recovered first, and fired a stunning spell at her twin. Parvati sprang up and ducked the hex, firing off with a jinx of her own. Morag and Padma managed to duck out of the way, but Sally-Anne was hit with the killing curse and tumbled down a few steps. Daphne and Cho screamed simultaneously. Luna fired an "impedimenta" while Morag cast "expelliarmus." Both missed their mark as Parvati ducked around the bend. Susan Bones was holding a whispered plan of action with Padma, Daphne, and Cho while the other girls attempted to stop Parvati with a wide variety of hexes.

"Luna! Morag! On, three, move out of our way!" Padma shouted over the whizzes and bangs of the spells in the confined area.

She ducked and narrowly avoided a stray curse. Luna and Morag readied themselves for flight. Cho and Daphne squatted down and held their hands palms up a foot off of the ground. Morag sent another disarming hex, her heart pounding wildly as Parvati sent deadly curses at the other girls rapidly. Susan stepped with her right foot onto Cho and Daphne's outstretched hands, holding onto their shoulders for balance.

"Ready!" Padma yelled. "One! Two! Three!"

Luna and Morag dropped to the floor of the stairwell on cue. Susan stepped up with both feet into her makeshift ladder, while Cho and Daphne both quickly stood up, lifting their hands in a human catapult. Padma pointed her wand at Susan and shouted the levitating spell.

Morag's jaw dropped as she saw Susan go launching over their heads, straight at Parvati. It was barely a second later that Padma grabbed Luna and ordered her to take Daphne's place by Cho. Daphne went flying after Susan, (who had missed Parvati when she flung herself sideways to escape the incoming Hufflepuff) and was now laying sprawled on the stairs. Susan wasn't moving.

Without any time to recover from Susan's attack, Parvati couldn't escape harm's way and was hit dead on by Daphne. As she fell under Daphne's weight, the other girls took their opportunity to run up to the struggling girls.

* * *

**Gryffindor Girls Stairwell**

**1:09 A.M.**

Hermione heaved a desperately needed breath of air as she ran up the stairwell she had snuck down less than two hours before. She had already passed a slew of girls contained in the second years' dorm. Hannah Abbott and Marietta Edgecombe, who had put aside the animosity between herself and Hermione, had rapidly filled her in on the situation at hand. Hermione had stopped at every dormitory on her way up to check for anyone in need of help. Horrifying sight after horrifying sight had met her gaze. Parvati had gotten a lot of damage done while she had been off chasing the wrong people with Harry and Zabini. It was easy to blame herself for it all. Yet, there was a tiny, evil voice that whispered her thanks for being out of bed, upon stumbling, wheezing, into her dormitory and glimpsing the fate of her roommates.

Time was of the essence, but Hermione's feet felt like buckets of lead. Random memories flashed rapid-fire through her brain.

Lavender crying over her dead rabbit, Binky. Tracey's affinity for underwear with ducks on them. Dez brushing her dark hair while teasing Hermione about her chronological, color-coded notes. Parvati's love for Trelawney. All of it had added up to nothing. Her roommates had died, needlessly, by the hand of their friend. And Hermione hadn't been here to stop it. She hadn't properly worked out the riddle. If she had…

A sob escaped her throat. She clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle any more that might follow. Now, more than ever, Hermione needed to be strong. She hadn't been able to save Lavender, Dez, and Tracey, but that didn't mean she couldn't save the others. After biting her tongue sharply to bring herself to her senses, Hermione wheeled about and marched back into the stairwell.

She strode over the dead body of Sally-Anne Perks without batting an eyelash. She passed Susan Bones' crumpled form without breaking stride. Ellen Ridgeway was passed over without a single double-take at her frozen corpse.

Hermione's grip on her wand was firm, her hand steady as she held it in front of her. Her mind was saying one thing only: _Get Parvati. Stop Parvati. Kill Parvati._

There. Up ahead. Luna, Morag MacDougal, and Padma were battling two shadows on the stairs. Three figures were prone on the ground; Hermione couldn't recognize them in the dark. Her vision focused on Carina Zimmerman. She lifted her chin, narrowed her gaze, and cast a jet of green light at her back.

* * *

**Gryffindor Girls Stairwell: Outside the Seventh Year Dormitory**

**1:10 A.M.**

Morag clutched the side of her bleeding abdomen as she dueled Parvati Patil alongside Padma. Cho lay dead on the ground two steps below them. Luna and Daphne were dueling with a seventh year who was obviously a Death Eater Lisa Turpin hadn't mentioned. Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain lay either dead or unconscious a few feet away from the battle, her blond hair matted with blood. Parvati deflected Padma's hex effortlessly, while Morag took aim. She had a clear shot, if Padma would just move an inch to her left…

Morag pointed her wand and began to voice an incantation. A shriek from Luna broke her concentration, and she was blasted off of her feet, hitting the wall behind her with a smack. Luna's cry was explained when Morag landed next to Daphne, who was clearly dead. Her eyes were wide open and staring.  
Padma was yelling something furiously at Parvati in another language. Luna barely avoided being hexed by leaping sideways. Morag attempted to regain her footing; wobbling unsteadily. Her head was throbbing in agony, as if someone had clamped a vice around her skull and was mercilessly tightening it. She staggered a step forward, attempting to help her fellow Ravenclaws. She didn't have time to shout a warning to Luna when she saw Carina shoot a jet of green light at the fifth year. Morag's mouth formed to an incoming scream, her eyes widening in horror, as their inevitable demise became clear when Padma tripped as well. None of them ever saw it coming.

Especially not Carina, who, without pausing in the slightest, pitched forward onto Luna. Morag lunged to her friend's defense, before she realized Carina was dead. But how…?

Hermione Granger was revealed a few steps below. Her bushy hair seemed to be crackling around her in a halo of energy. Her eyes were dark and predatory. A green glow surrounded her and her upraised wand. All action stopped temporarily in astonishment. Hermione effortlessly disarmed Parvati, while Luna moved out from under Carina. Padma clutched her broken arm to her chest, her other hand gripping her neck.

"Parvati," Granger said icily.

"Mudblood," Parvati sneered in return.

Morag had never been so happy to see anyone in her entire life. If she was gay, she would seriously consider proposing to Hermione right there. As it was, she would currently settle for a resounding kiss of joy. Padma had sunken to the floor, blood seeping through her fingers. Luna checked on the Gryffindor on the floor. Granger laughed mirthlessly.

"Mudblood?" she said mockingly. "_Mudblood?_ That is the best you can do? Like anything you say can bother me. You, my dear pureblood, are less than nothing," Granger spat, while stalking closer. Her eyes looked to be on fire. "I'm going to enjoy killing you."

"Wait," Padma gasped from her prone position on the steps. "Hermione, you can't…. she's my sister."

Granger blinked. The frightening rage which had possessed her seemed to be dwindling.

"Padma, she killed Lavender and Dez and Tracey. She killed Daphne and Sally-Anne and Cho!" Morag yelled.

Before anyone could respond, Parvati took her opportunity while Granger was distracted, and plunged her hand into a pocket of her robe. She disappeared instantly.

The four girls stared in stunned silence. A silence that was only broken a minute later, when Hannah Abbott ran up, followed by Millicent Bulstrode and ten other girls. The Slytherin girls had come too late.

* * *

The scratching noise of a quill hard at work filled the room. Two rolls of already filled parchment, both tied with a yellow ribbon, adorned the large desk. A hunched man, who was feverishly writing a lengthy report, sat behind the desk. His red hair, freckles, and horn-rimmed glasses identified him as one Percy Weasley. Percy had told the sad remains of the Ministry of Magic that he had to remain at Hogwarts this week due to urgent business. This was true. Percy had been working practically nonstop since receiving the owl from Lupin demanding he come up to the castle at once; there was another catastrophe. Percy paused a moment, sat up straight, cracked his back, and reread what he had just written.

_Upon meeting with James Bond and Luke Skywalker, it was confirmed only Eloise Midgen, (current casualties: 25) Malcolm Baddock, (cc: 8) and Parvati Patil (cc: 19) escaped back to Death Eater headquarters. However, James Bond informed us that both Baddock and Patil were locked in the torture dungeons after stating their cases. Midgen was promoted, due to her clean job, large death toll, and information pertaining to the newly developed potions. (Prof. Snape is currently testing all three; as of now, all we know about them is their color and effects.) We also have confirmation that it was Baddock who killed both Van de Housers, and the rest of the third years. Patil, according to Skywalker, was punished due to her failure to kill Hermione Granger. Baddock was punished for leaving Pritchard (cc: 7) behind. The rest of the Hogwart Death Eaters, whose numbers total five, remain at the school. Both Pritchard and Kyle Stebbins (victim to Baddock) remain unconscious in the hospital wing, and are unable to be interrogated for details. Hufflepuffs Susan Bones and Zacharias Smith are in the hospital wing as well; they are expected to make a full recovery. Carina Zimmerman (cc: 5 ) and Derek Rogers (cc: 11) were killed by students of their own houses in self defense, and are obviously unable to reveal any details of their actions. Theodore Nott (casualties: 0) remains in a state of shock, and will not speak even under the influence of veritaserum. According to Slytherin Millicent Bulstrode, Nott gained access to the girl dormitories in the dungeons through unexplained means, and made the mistake of starting his attack in the Seventh year girls' room, where Bulstrode and one Edith Lodgeman were awake and playing a game of Wizard chess. As Nott did not succeed in killing anyone, his punishment remains undecided. We, the Order of the Phoenix, struck gold with the last junior Death Eater, Lisa Turpin (cc: 9). She sang like a canary immediately, without any er… persuasion._

Percy paused in his perusing with a slight frown. "Sang like a canary?" Why in Merlin's name had he written that? He must be spending too much time around Harry, he decided with a nod. From below a crash echoed and voices drifted through the cracked open door, to Percy's irritation.

"Oy, Lee, catch it!"

"You catch it Fred, you're closer!"

"No I'm not! I'm on the opposite side of the room!"

"Oh, sorry Fred! George, you catch it! You're closer!"

"How long have you known us, and you can't tell us apart?"

"Just shut up and catch it!" shrieked Alicia Spinnet.

Bellowed swears, crashes, and bangs sounded along with the faint tinkle of bells from the front door.

"Fred, to your left! No YOUR left!"

"Get it!"

"I'm trying!"

"Ouch!"

"Are you looking for this?" An amused Scottish accented voice said.

Percy sighed, got up, and closed the cracked door with a snap. It was times like these that made him wonder why he had ever decided to live with the twins in their home situated over _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ in Hogsmeade. He sat back down in his chair and picked up his quill.

_Turpin disclosed that Patil had co-erced a house elf into adding some type of slow acting sleeping draught to the staff's drinks and the patrolling prefects at dinner. Turpin was unable to explain how Patil managed to knock out the ghosts, why Peeves was unaffected, or why Filch and Mrs. Norris awoke hours before anyone else affected. Turpin also revealed that Zimmerman was supposed to attack the Gryffindor boys, leaving the girls to Patil, indicating a blown assignment on Zimmerman's part._

Percy heaved another long suffering sigh. Pucey and Flint (aka Luke Skywalker and James Bond) had turned up last night with valuable inside information about You-Know-Who. The order had been fully immersed in debating the best plan of attack, when Lupin had spoken up, with an odd look on his face, saying they couldn't act for at least a week. Even though his words had caused an uproar, he had offered no explanation. Percy again shook his tired, muddled head to help clear his thoughts, and then resumed his tedious writing.

* * *

Hermione shook back her mane of bushy hair absently as she walked to Hogsmeade next to Harry. They were walking rather briskly due to the cold air, and because they had work to do. Lupin had given everyone the last few days off to recuperate from the latest disaster to hit Hogwarts, and was determined to lighten everyone's spirits. Viktor was organizing a large sports event, Muggle and wizard sports alike, to distract some of the students, Hagrid was giving students rides on the backs of Hippogriffs, and the House Elves were putting on a production of Macbeth in the Great Hall. Anyone who was not tempted by these entertainments was allowed into Hogsmeade. Hermione snapped out of her daze when she felt Harry steering her, while he babbled guiltily, towards _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. _

"Harry, we don't have time to –"

"We won't stay long, Hermione," Harry wheedled, with such an effective puppy dog face that Hermione laughed and gave in.

Really, it's not like she could _blame_ Harry for wanting to postpone visiting the Dursleys, she thought as they walked though the tinkling door. They were greeted with a highly amusing scene. Fred, Lee, and George were covered in fluorescent purple goo, along with a half dozen customers. Alicia was on the ground, also covered in purple goo, half buried underneath a collapsed shelf and a large display of Skiving Snackboxes. Katie Bell was doubled over with laughter, clutching her stomach and turning red in the face. Oliver Wood was standing in the middle of it all, a bemused smile on his face, holding a ball the exact color and consistency of the goo covering the store and its occupants, aloft in his hand.

"Fabulous Keeper reflexes, Oliver," chirped an ooey gooey Fred.

"Too bad you didn't come in sooner, could've saved us a bit of a mess," grinned a dripping George. Katie regained enough semblance of control to walk over to Alicia and help her up.

"Harry mate!" beamed Lee, who had just spotted them; "and Hermione! Good to see you!"

"Looks like we missed all the fun," Harry chuckled.

"If by 'fun' you mean 'day of the thousand humiliations'" Alicia grumbled. George handed her a towel with a grin.

"I don't know what you're complaining about, Alicia," He chirped, "it's a great color for you. Whereas Fred and I are committing horrible crimes against fashion. It clashes revoltingly with our red hair."

Alicia threw the now slimed towel at his head.

"Will you moronic banshees be quiet for once!" Percy's highly testy voice bellowed from above. Wood responded by throwing the purple goo ball up the stairwell. A loud 'splat' was followed by splutters of indignation and yelled profanities.

"Did he just call me a wanker?" Wood asked, in astonished disbelief.

"I didn't know Percy even knew what a wanker _was_," said George with awe.

"Yes, but he's returned to form with the nagging," said Fred reminiscently. "Odd, I think I actually missed it."

Complete silence reigned as everyone stared at an oblivious Fred. Hermione broke the atmosphere of horror and shock.

"Harry, we really ought to be going, I promised Fleur I'd be there by eleven." Harry winced.

"Anyone willing to meet the Dursleys?" said Harry in the tone of one going to his execution.

"Already had the pleasure, mate," Fred said cheerily as he straightened the fallen display of Snackboxes.

"I'll have to pass," said Lee apologetically. "I promised Krum I'd emcee the games this afternoon." Harry looked even more despondent, while Hermione checked the time.

"I really have to go, Harry." He nodded gloomily and waved her towards the door. Hermione exited the joke shop with the sound of Harry begging George in her ears. She started briskly in the directions of Fleur's le monde de la mode, Fleur's shop of high end fashions. Crunching footsteps sounded behind her.

"Hermione! Wait up!"

She turned and saw Katie Bell hurrying towards her. Katie gave a wan smile.

"I wanted to tag along, hope you don't mind," she said rather anxiously.

In the few days since the student Death Eater battle, the two former vague acquaintances were rapidly becoming good friends. It was rather an unlikely pair of mates, all the two had in common was Gryffindor, gender, Harry, and a certain obsession with Oliver Wood's dreamy pretty-boy looks. The rest of the Quidditch team had already graduated, and Angelina and Alicia had always been closer to each other than with Katie. All of the rest of the sixth and seventh year Gryffindor girls had been killed (sans Parvati). Neither girl had wanted to stay in a room that was the site of multiple murders, alone. Hermione had been planning on staying in Ron's old bed with Harry and the sixth years, and had invited Katie to share the large four poster bed with her. It was strangely comforting to sleep in Ron's old bed, with Harry five feet away and a formidable witch next to you. Especially when Hermione had nightmares of the horrors she witnessed, which were both gruesome and frequent in their occurrence.

"Of course I don't mind," Hermione said, surprised. "I wanted to talk to you anyway," she said with a significantly smirky look. The girls paused in front of Honeydukes. Katie groaned upon catching Hermione's drift.

"Not this again," she said, exasperated.

"Yes, this again!" said Hermione with a large grin. "_So_?" she asked eagerly.

"So what?"

"Stop playing dumb! What was that all about back there?"

"It was nothing."

"Liar!"

"You're making something out of nothing."

"So, you call it 'nothing' that you were out with Oliver Wood on his day off, alone and unsupervised?"

"Yes." Katie paused. "This is killing you, isn't it? Not knowing something?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Arghhh!"

Katie grinned as they resumed walking.

"Alright, alright. I ran into him in the hallway, and he mentioned he was going into Hogsmeade."

"And…?"

"And I said I was too. Then he suggested we visit Fred and George."

"That's it?"

"Unfortunately."

"Why don't you just tell him that you like him?"

"Why don't you?"  
"I don't like him, I just appreciate his beauty. Besides, I'm not his type."

"He doesn't have a type."

"Sure he does! Quidditch."

"What the bloody hell? Quidditch isn't a _type_!"

"I know, but that's the only thing he likes, so a girl who resembles Quidditch the most is his type."

"Well then, you _are_ his type! Remember when you cast that charm on Harry's glasses during that Hufflepuff match? I thought he was going to propose right there! I remember, because of my blinding rage towards you at the time."

The girls laughed together. They stopped outside Fleur's le monde de la mode and entered. The chic store was crowded as usual, and Fleur looked annoyed with the herd of girls around her. Katie turned to Hermione.

"She looks busy," she remarked. "I'm not a gorgeous fashion-plate veela, but I'm willing to lend my expert tomboy advice." Hermione groaned.

"The two of us and fashion is a disaster waiting to happen. Anyway, it's already all picked out; I just have to get it from Fleur."

"Did she make them herself?" Katie asked, impressed.

At Hermione's nod, Katie whistled in appreciation.

"I had no idea you were so rich. But now that I know, I plan on hitting you up for money at every possible opportunity."

* * *

**Dursley Home**

Harry sat slumped and miserable upon the Dursley's brand new sofa in their sparkling clean living room. There was no doubt about it. He was in hell. Harry looked at the cooling cup of tea in his hand. Thank God Wood had come, he thought fervently. Otherwise, he had a feeling he might've hexed Uncle Vernon a good ten times by now. Harry had come to deliver a letter from Lupin to Aunt Petunia, which Moony had insisted be done in person. Personally, Harry thought Lupin had made it up solely to torture him. It lay unopened on the coffee table, as Aunt Petunia became more and more transfixed with Wood. In fact, the Dursleys all seemed to hold high opinions of his former captain, and were currently discussing football. (Dean had taught Oliver, who took to it with predictable zeal.) The Dursleys would apparently gladly trade Harry for Oliver as their nephew. Harry couldn't decide if he was grateful to Wood for placating the Dursleys, or if he was sulkily and bizarrely jealous of the admiration from his relatives towards the ex Keeper. He decided to be disgusted at himself, and sourly took a sip of cold tea.

* * *

Hermione walked briskly past the castle towards Hagrid's hut. It had been hard work, distracting Katie from the contents of her purchases, but Lady Luck was on her side today. Just when she was frantically thinking up a plausible excuse for secrecy, Oliver Wood and Harry had been coming out of the front door of one the newly built houses and onto the street. Hermione had loudly hailed them, and the four of them walked together back towards Hogwarts. Harry had been quiet, with a bizarre look that was a combination between murderous and relieved on his face. Oliver had been animatedly talking to Katie, and however blasé Katie might be, Hermione was further convinced that Oliver was interested in her blond chaser friend. He, however, was remaining infuriatingly unaware of it. Hermione thoughtfully considered giving the teasing towards Katie a rest tonight, only because of the disturbing and ridiculous retaliations the Seventh year had made while waiting for Fleur.

Hermione couldn't fathom where Katie had gotten the preposterous idea that there was something going on between her and _Blaise Zabini _of all people. That annoying, weird, Slytherin git! Sure, Zabini had been sitting with her and Harry at meals lately, but that was nothing! Katie had been delusional enough to state that she was all for it, and she even said - Hermione was horrified by the mere thought - that they would be a cute couple! Hermione had dryly responded that between her and Zabini, their kids would have brillo heads. Katie had laughed hysterically but had not, Hermione noted, denied it.

Hermione arrived at Hagrid's hut, and knocked three times on the door. Immediately, the door was flung open, and Hermione caught a glimpse of a giant man before being knocked over by a joyful, madly licking Fang.

"Back, _back_, Fang," Hagrid growled good naturedly. He put forth his huge paw of a hand and set Hermione on her feet effortlessly. "Been lookin' forward ter seein' yeh, Hermione," he said gruffly as he ushered her inside. "How have yeh been doin'?" he asked anxiously while she sat at his enormous wooden table. "And Harry? How is he?"

"We're fine, Hagrid," said Hermione reassuringly. "We've missed you as well, you're always so busy!"

Hagrid sighed heavily. "Well, that can't be helped, Hermione. Lots o' work ter do fer the order, yeh know."

She nodded sympathetically as Hagrid set a huge mug of steaming tea in front of her.

"Well, 'ere it is," Hagrid said while putting a circular stone basin on the table. "Give 'er a good prod with yer wand when yer ready. I'll be right here watchin' yeh."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Hermione smiled while pulling out her wand. "I'm not worried about it."

"I'll be right 'ere," Hagrid repeated nervously as Hermione poked the silvery contents of the pensieve with her wand.

The thick mist swirled quickly, and cleared into a small picture of Hogwart's library. Hermione leaned in closely, and gave a startled squeak when she tilted headfirst unexpectedly into the pensieve. Hermione landed with an "oof" on the floor of the library next to the cluster of tables used for studying. This was clearly Hagrid's memory, apparent from the old-fashioned garb. Presumably Harry's memories would appear last.

Hermione stood up and straightened her robes, looking around for Hagrid. She spotted him almost immediately. He was a huge boy, already taller than everyone else, yet whose face revealed a twelve-year-old boy. Hermione walked closer, fascinated. He was sitting alone at a table, looking fixedly at an opened transfiguration book and some messily scrabbled notes. Hermione was so immersed in staring at this beardless, Gryffindor-robed Hagrid; that she jumped upon hearing a voice behind her.

"Rubeus Hagrid, I presume?" a pleasantly voiced young man inquired.

Both Hagrid and Hermione looked at the speaker. He was a handsome older student, his tie bearing the Slytherin green and silver, and sporting a prefect badge. His black, slightly wavy hair was short and neatly combed, parted on the side of his head. He was around 5'9" or 5'10", and of average build. His entire appearance was well groomed, gleaming, pressed, and orderly. His face was rather chiseled, but not overly so, with semi-prominent cheekbones, jaw line, and a well-proportioned nose. His eyes were of an interesting shade, some light combination of grey and blue and green, surrounded by dark eyebrows and eyelashes. Smiling pleasantly, he revealed a set of even white teeth. In short, he strongly reminded Hermione of a cross between Harry and Cedric Diggory, with Harry's coloring, and Cedric's good, wholesome, looks and air of an upstanding student. Hermione was quite sure the girls of this time were just as giggly and appreciative of this boy's looks as those girls who sighed at the appearance of Cedric. Hermione knew without a doubt who this was.

"Er, yeh, Rubeus, that's me," Hagrid stuttered.

The boy held out a clean, well groomed hand, still smiling.

"Tom Riddle. Pleased to meet your acquaintance," he said sincerely. They shook hands, Riddle's in Hagrid's huge, rough hand. "Headmaster Dippet sent me to tutor you."

"Er, yeh," Hagrid said, with a flush rising on his neck. "Yeh, I do need a bit 'o help."

"In which subject?" Riddle asked, while taking a seat across from Hagrid.

"Er, well, all 'o 'em, ter tell yeh the truth," Hagrid confessed sheepishly. Tom Riddle blinked once, but otherwise looked impressively unfazed.

"Well, let's start at the beginning," he said encouragingly.

Hermione was startled when the background abruptly swirled and changed, into the entrance of the Great Hall. She glanced around before quickly re-spotting Hagrid. He was making his way down the marble staircase by himself, book bag slung over one enormous shoulder. A burst of laughter startled Hermione, coming from a group of boys on her right. There were five of them, right around her age, obviously older than Hagrid. (They were still, of course, considerably _smaller_ than Hagrid.)

Hermione's stomach clenched painfully when she recognized the looks on the faces of the boys. Malfoy had always sported that malicious glimmer in his eye, that alarming smirk on his mouth; in all of her unpleasant encounters with him. It was clear what was about to take place, Hermione thought with a sick sort of fury.

The boys were uncoiling themselves from the wall next to the doors leading to the great hall, eyes locked on their oblivious target, hands stealthily plunging in their robes for their wands. Hermione was forcefully reminded of the differences between the Muggle world and Wizarding culture. No one in a Muggle school would be insane enough, (no matter _how_ many of them there were) to attack someone the size of Hagrid. In a wizarding school however….. It was times like this that Hermione hated magic.

Hagrid obliviously crossed the entryway floor and ambled towards the doors to the Great Hall. The boys surrounded him in a single, fluid motion.

"Evening, Rubeus," the clear leader of the gang drawled.

He had all the characteristics of an inbred pureblood, Hermione thought viciously, all the way down the stunning resemblance to a rodent.

Hagrid smiled lopsidedly, and Hermione found herself on the verge of angry tears. Poor, sweet, lovable Hagrid, who had no idea what was coming.

"Evenin' Logan. How are yeh doin'?"

"Well, I was doing great until I saw your big ugly face. Now I've lost my appetite." The rodent-boy said smoothly.

Hagrid blinked, bewildered, and his smile drooped.

"Er… sorry?"

"He's as stupid as he is ugly, the big freak," smugged a towering brunette boy. The group laughed.

"I don't know," piped up a third boy, "I don't think anyone could possibly be _that_ ugly." The hyenas cackled again, as Hagrid's countenance grew more and more hurt.

Hermione was breathing as if she had run a marathon, her hand gripping her wand so tightly she would find a red welt on her palm later.

"I heard the only reason he hasn't been held back is because Riddle does all of his work for him," sneered Logan.

"You heard wrong," a new voice snapped.

Everyone looked over at the newcomer. There stood Tom Riddle. He was accompanied by a boy that absolutely had to be related to Malfoy somehow. Riddle and the Malfoy look-a-like (though to be fair, this boy was far less ferret-like and runty) wore identical expressions of disgust.

"Rubeus knows far more than you do, Parkinson. Considering all you know how to do is be a cowardly little git," Riddle's companion said bitingly.

To say Hermione was floored was like saying Dudley Dursley was pleasantly plump. Here was Tom Riddle, future Dark Lord, scourge of the wizarding world, defending a half-blood like Hagrid? And as if that wasn't shocking enough, a _Malfoy_ standing up for Hagrid?

"That's enough," Riddle declared with finality. "I suggest you boys get to dinner before I am forced to dock points."

The group of bullies, who had all looked surprised and a little afraid of the interrupters, silently turned and walked towards the Great Hall, shooting malevolent looks back over their shoulders. While they passed her, Hermione received yet another jolt upon spotting three of the boys wearing the red and gold ties of Gryffindor.

The Malfoy-clone turned to a clearly hurt Hagrid, whose eyes were welling with tears.

"Yeh shouldn't've done that, Igneus, Tom," Hagrid said quaveringly. "They'll be after yeh next."

"Don't be ridiculous, Rubeus," said Igneus cheerily, "like we're scared of _them_."

Riddle, who had been frowning after the retreating bullies, turned to the others.

"I hope you didn't listen to them, Rubeus," he said seriously, "they're foul excuses for wizards."

Igneus nodded his agreement while Hagrid wiped his eyes. "Absolutely right, Tom," he said, clapping Hagrid on his enormous back. "Now, what d'you say to eating with us tonight, Rubeus?

The three boys of the past strode into the Great Hall with an invisible spectator trailing behind them.

* * *

Rodolphus Lestrange was under no illusions in regards to his marriage. He was quite aware of the fact that his wife was currently boning the same man she had been cheating on him with since before they were married. He knew this was what his wife was doing, because he had been stuck with the unenviable task of distracting the Dark Lord's wife from noticing their absence. Yes, Rodolphus had always known Bellatrix was unfaithful, but what could you do when your wife was screwing a man who could blow you apart with a wave of his pinky? Not to mention whom you had sworn eternal loyalty towards.

Rodolphus had to comfort himself with the fact that at least his wife was the Dark Lord's favorite, both between the sheets and in battle. He also was aware that besides their master's and hers transgressions, Bellatrix had otherwise remained faithful to him, in spite of all her enamored pursuers. Oh, how glad he had been when the Weasley boy killed that repugnant Malfoy man! Before Azkaban, Lucius had been no threat to him.

Despite what was commonly regarded as fact, Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange had not had an arranged marriage. Sure, the choices in the pure-blood society were lesser, but either of them could've had anyone they wanted. Bellatrix was stunningly beautiful; from an old, powerful name, wealthy, and so hypnotizing she captivated men with a mere glance. Rodolphus was darkly handsome; with his tanned skin, strong jaw, and dark hair. He was fabulously wealthy, and his name was ancient. Either of them could've had their pick of anyone, but they had wanted each other.

Bella wasn't like most pureblood wives; docile sheep who were as phony as a tin-plated galleon. Not content to stay at home and be subservient, Bella was powerful, intelligent, ruthless, and commanding. Rodolphus couldn't have been prouder.

After Azkaban, however, he had been wasted away to a pathetic, skeletal shell of his former self. And that odious Malfoy, at whom he and Bella had laughed at behind his back, to whom Bella had snidely commented that she would never accept the proposal of a man who spent longer on his hair than she did, had seemed to have not aged a day. And he had continued his pursuit of her. Oh, how he had pursued her, even though she was his wife's younger sister, and even looking the way she now did. But his darling had remained true to him, and they had privately snickered over the fact that a _Weasley_ had been the one to take him down, for Merlin's sake.

Besides, his death, along with Wormtail's, usurped Lucius as the Dark Lord's second in command. Now there was no one who could clearly challenge Bella and himself as their Lord's most powerful followers. Their fellow Azkaban inmates were the only ones who could claim their levels of devotion, and they were even more insane than the Lestranges were. Rodolphus's musings were interrupted by a grating voice.

"What is taking my darling muffin so long?" the girl whined to him.

Rodolphus barely stifled a grimace. The Dark Lord's wife. The bane of his and Bella's existence. That little pouting tart, who was young enough to be her husband's grand-daughter. Rodolphus smiled as blankly as he could, while repressing his homicidal urges.

"Our Lord has many tasks which require his attention, Lady Ginevra. He will return as soon as he can."

_Yes, just as soon as he's stopped having sex with my wife, _Rodolphus continued internally.

"But I want to see him _nowwww_" the irritating brat whined in an insufferable tone.

Rodolphus was physically restraining himself at this point. Sweet Merlin, what **did** his master see in such a horrid creature?

"I'm bored, and I want to play, and I want to play **now**," the banshee from hell moaned.

He was now drawing blood from where he was biting his tongue.

"We could play," he managed to grit out in a neutral tone. "Wizarding Chess or Exploding Snap?"

The girl gave him an appraising look.

"Yes… yes, we could play. Unfortunately, you repulse me. Clearly, you were once attractive, but now…" she made a heaving noise.

Rodolphus's eye was twitching uncontrollably. He didn't know how much longer he could restrain himself from telling this impudent wench _exactly_ what, or more accurately, _who_her beloved "Tommy" was doing.

The door to his room opened, and in walked a young Death Eater he vaguely recognized. He was tall and lean and dark blonde, and most likely barely out of Hogwarts.

"Mr. Lestrange," he said formally, with a courteous bow. "So sorry to interrupt you, sir, but-"he stopped upon catching sight of the girl. His eyes widened comically, his mouth a gaping "O" of surprise. The girl smirked.

"Having problems, Pucey?" she smugged.

Pucey. That was his name. Walden and McNair had been saying good things about this one.

"Aren't – aren't you th- the Weasley girl?" the boy stuttered. The girl's face contorted.

"Do not say that name!" she shrieked, in a credible imitation of Bellatrix. "Those blood traitors are no family of mine!" her face was blotching rapidly. "I am your Master's wife, Lady Ginevra, and you will obey me, you cretin!"

Pucey stared, astonished, then turned to Rodolphus for help. He rolled his eyes in a commiserating gesture.

"Yes, yes, my lady, there's no need to get upset" he said in a monotone. "Young Pucey was unaware, like so many others are."

"I don't see why," she grumbled. "_Why_ doesn't my Tommykins tell everyone of our joy? Of my power?"

"My lady," Rodolphus barely managed to grit out, "you know the Master has his reasons for keeping you hidden. It will be a great blow to those Phoenix fools to see you as one of us."

She pouted, but kept silent. Pucey remained silent as well.

* * *

Hermione sighed as she sunk onto Harry's bed in a state of exhaustion. Harry took a quick glance around their room to make sure Katie, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were asleep before hopping in next to her. He yanked the curtains shut and muttered a silencing charm. Hermione watched in amusement as Harry pulled out the girliest looking diary she had ever seen out from under his pillow. It was a noxious shade of fuchsia, and covered in glittery stickers depicting frolicking unicorns. Harry flipped it open, thumbing through the pages.

"Here," he said grimly, holding out the opened book, "read this," he pointed to a passage.

_Six days ago, at the Department of Mysteries, I was hit with a curse. I didn't know what it was at the time, but I snuck in to the library's restricted section during the feast to do some research. It's either (the Nightmare Curse) or (the Future Curse) either way, it seems to be brainwashing me. All I can think about is Tom. I don't know what's going on, I only see him as Voldemort! Mum keeps bugging me as well. Ginny, you look pale, oh Ginny, have you been sleeping? Ginny, you need to gain weight. Sometimes I just want to kill her. Dad's home, I'll write more later._

Hermione looked up at Harry, who was anxiously waiting for her reaction.

"She isn't being brainwashed," Hermione said shortly. Harry looked crushed.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. The Nightmare Curse and the Future Reality Curse only suggest, they don't modify behavior or thoughts."

"So it really is her acting of her own free will," Harry sighed.

"Yeah," said Hermione.

"There's nothing much useful in here," said Harry morosely, idly flipping through the pages. "She seems to become crazier and crazier as it goes on."

Hermione heaved a loud sigh.

"Did the pensieve help you?" asked Harry. Hermione shrugged.

"A bit. You wouldn't believe how Riddle acts around everyone else, Harry. He's so… nice. Everyone likes him, he sticks up for people, he's respectful and polite, he docks points from people who say "Mudblood," and the teachers love him. I almost fell over when I saw what he was really like."

"You mean in the chamber?" asked Harry with a furrowed brow.

"Exactly. It was all an act. An extremely convincing act. It's going to be hard, Harry." Harry yawned widely.

"Well, we already knew that, Hermione. Are we still going with the 'search, kill, destroy' plan?"

Hermione grimaced in exasperation.

"I thought we discussed this."

"We did, but you didn't give me an answer. Did you recheck your numbers?"

"Twelve times," said Hermione gloomily. It had just been the day before, while researching time in the restricted section, that Harry had found it. Morgana's Theory, the book that had destroyed their well thought out plan with a single blow. It had been while perusing Chapter Sixteen: Consequences of Changing the Past, that Harry had found the bad news.

_While it is not widely know, due to the controversial methods employed to prove her findings, the Witch Morgana had found a proven method of determining vital information concerning time travel. It has been speculated that everything in life is predetermined, meaning it is impossible to change the future by changing the past. (See Chapter Four for further detail) Other theories state that the slightest change in the past could have drastic future consequences. (See Chapter Five) Morgana however, was of the belief that our futures were both pre-determined and an effect of our free will. After a series of experiments (See Chapter Nine) Morgana was shocked to discover that only certain major events were impossible to change, and these events could be identified by a series of complex equations. (See Chapter 21)_

"So we can't kill him," Harry said despondently.

"No," Hermione sighed. "Even if we held a gun to his head and pulled the trigger, something would malfunction, and he wouldn't die. That is of course, assuming Morgana's theory is correct. But what if you don't take it seriously, and it is right? Can you imagine the conversation? 'No, this isn't a gun! Gun, you say? What is this 'gun' of which you speak?' It would kinda ruin any stealthy future operations."

"Typical," Harry groused.

"Well, you can't be killed either, you know," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Which explains why Voldemort has never tried to go back in time to kill you."

"Well, if we can't kill him, how are we going to neutralize him?"

"That's the question" Hermione groused.

"We somehow have to make him… not evil," said Harry.

"Which is why this is so hard," Hermione moaned

"Well," Harry said slowly, "Dumbledore said my ability to love was what would defeat Voldemort."

Hermione and Harry silently locked eyes, before bursting into laughter verging on hysteria. Sometimes, only humor could keep you sane in a horrifying situation.

"Right," Hermione groused after calming down, "love."

Unbeknownst to Harry, Hermione had no intention of them traveling to the past together. While she had found an Aeternus Lapideus that traveled to a time convenient for dealing with Tom Riddle, it was possible it had only one more journey left in it before it overheated and cracked down the middle, rendering it useless for the return trip. She had luckily come across a second stone that was dated soon after the first one, and she was planning on using it in case of an emergency. Yet, this would still leave the wizarding world without Harry Potter for a week if it came to that. Hermione wasn't sure the population could handle that.

She had so elaborated on her rouse of Harry traveling with her, (she knew this was the only way he and Lupin would consent to her traveling back to Riddle's day,) that she had even had Fleur make clothes for Harry circa 1943. Technically, they would never be used, but they had served to shut Harry up when he became gleeful earlier upon pouncing on her bobby socks. (Hermione shuddered at the thought of the foul things.)

So, if she had to save Tom Riddle herself, she was the one who had to make him good through love. She, who had cast Unforgivables, killing other human beings. Granted, they were Death Eaters, and it was kill or be killed, but still. She didn't know if she had any love to give within her. It was also a quandary trying to figure out what _kind _of love to show to Riddle. Would it be a friend type love, or sisterly love, or- Hermione's skin crawled- romantic love? Or maybe just lust? She had no idea how to fake being in love _or_ in lust with the repulsive thing. Hermione's train of thought stopped when a brilliant idea popped into her head without warning.

* * *

Blaise Zabini alternately tapped his foot and pencil (against the floor and table respectively) in annoyance. He was currently sitting at a table in the library next to the stack of Ancient Runes books. Classes had resumed on Monday, and he already had a huge pile of work to start. It seemed the teachers' sympathy in regards to the attacks did not extend to their homework policy.

He should be starting his mound of torture now, while he had free time between his last class, Transfiguration, and dinner, but he couldn't concentrate, even if his life depended on it. Distracting the normally studious Mr. Zabini was none other than Gryffindor's Golden Girl; Hermione Granger. That bossy, opinionated, know-it-all, who had hair that resembled a tumbleweed mated with a rat's nest. She had always been of vague interest to him; he was the quiet observer, the silent snake. If you went to Hogwarts, you couldn't avoid recognizing Hermione Granger. Blaise was a loner by nature, and he deemed few worthy enough of making the effort to get to know. While Granger had been an interesting study, she was mainly known to him as the bane of Malfoy's existence (after Potter, of course.)

It had only been recently, when he had spotted her striking down death eaters left and right in Diagon Alley, that he had noticed that Granger was…well…despite her unruly mess of hair…_hot_. The thought of her hexing him and perhaps slapping him, like she had infamously done to Malfoy in third year, thrilled him to no end. Contrary to this, it heartily disturbed him that he thought of Granger sexually at all.

Granger, however, had proved resilient to his tactics. She had effortlessly brushed off all of his intents to thoroughly enrage her with barely a tossed insult. He was beginning to think drastic measures might be necessary.

His mopings were interrupted by the arrival of the very subject of his confused thoughts. Hermione Granger, looking delicious in one of her typical prim uniforms, was determinedly walking his way. She looked so determined, in fact, that his heart started to race. Had she stewed on one of his brilliantly executed insults until snapping and deciding a good beating was what he needed? Had she just finally had enough with his thoroughly irritating behavior? He sat up straight and grinned hugely in anticipation.

* * *

After taking the past few days to work up her courage, and to make sure she wasn't making an idiotic decision, Hermione strode briskly through the library in search of Zabini. She had come across Crabbe in the kitchens, eating a three-layer raspberry cheesecake, and had co-erced him into telling her Zabini's whereabouts. Upon spotting him looking ridiculously irritated in the corner of a musty stack of books, her confidence, as well as her purposeful manner, faltered. Good God, what was she doing? Zabini was going to laugh in her face. Her only option was to ditch the conniving, be completely honest with him, bear his hysteria and possible vomiting, and hopefully get his help.

Her resolve back in place, she straightened her shoulders and resumed her forceful pace. Zabini spotted her, and grinned in a decidedly Slytherin-ish manner.

"Zabini," Hermione said with a stiff head nod. She stopped in front of his seated form.

"Granger," he mockingly nodded back, still grinning like an idiot, "nice to see you consorting with the masses."

She pursed her lips, her face screwed into an expression that would indicate she was sucking on lemons. Zabini, if it was possible, grinned wider.

"Don't make this harder than it already is, Zabini," she gritted out between her clenched teeth. "I'm just going to come out and say it. I need a favor."

It was possible Zabini's face was seconds away from cracking in two from the force of his smile. A black eyebrow rose smugly.

"Oh?" he said smoothly, his face assuming as innocent an expression as it possibly could. "And what could the mighty Miss Granger need from a 'slimy, annoying git' such as myself?" He crossed his arms smugly.

Of course he was going to make this hard, Hermione thought furiously. Now he was parroting back the insults she had thrown at him the other day, when he had needled her endlessly about S.P.E.W during lunch. He was so smug it was practically visible as it oozed off of him.

"I… well…it's more that I need your cooperation about something," Hermione stuttered, as she flushed hotly. "I… that is… well…"

Zabini raised both eyebrows while leaning forward. He looked intrigued. "Well, spit it out, Granger."

Hermione's blush doubled, as she screwed up her face as if bracing herself for something painful.

Zabini laughed. "I do believe I have witnessed a first. Hermione Granger, without anything to say! No one will believe me. I wish I had a camera. Then I could charge a galleon each to see the picture of Granger with her mouth shut."

Hermione, her temper riled, blurted out her request while steadfastly staring at Zabini's left ear.

"I want to seduce you."

**End A/N Here, finally, is the riddle from chapter 3 decoded:**

_**In the Circles Nine they will lie,**_

This refers to the nine circles of hell in Dante's "Divine Comedy." Dante said hell was composed of nine circles of increasingly worse sinners. In the ninth circle, (the worst,) was said to be the devil, frozen, with three heads and three mouths. In the center mouth, the worst sinner in history, Judas, was incased. So, this line basically says the people you should be concerned with are betrayers.

_**Not on the bottom of the sea.**_

An extension of the first line. You should be looking for betrayers, not those on the bottom of the sea, crabs. i.e., Vincent Crabbe is innocent.

_**Where red is spilled, start to run,**_

Refers to another innocent person that shouldn't be a suspect, Millicent Bulstrode. Red is spilled, start to run, refers to a red flag waving in the running of the bulls, hence Bulstrode. It has a double meaning as well, where blood is spilled, hurry the hell up to either get out of the way, or to run and save the day.

_**Silent as the grave you must be.**_

Also a double meaning. Should be taken at face value; be quiet or risk being overheard. It also means trust Zabini, who was known to the duo mainly as the "silent snake."

_**But while you flee remember this,**_

_**To my words you must heed,**_

Take it literally; listen up.

_**Beware the tangled webs**_

Beware tangled webs (knots) i.e. Theodore Nott. He is one of the betrayers.

_**The Sphinx has come to weave.**_

The sphinx meaning Tom Riddle, meaning Voldemort is seriously going to screw up your school.

_**At your door the wolf will come to call,**_

_**Mars must stop the fractured,**_

**_Or all will crumble and fall_**.

Refers to Romulus and Remus, who were raised by wolves. Mars was their father. Romulus betrayed and killed Remus. So, this stanza says Parvati is coming to wreak havoc, and must be stopped by Parvati, or else the junior death eaters will win.

_**Violets will wither, the grass will turn brown,**_

_**The skeleton will be seen,**_

VioletsLavender Brown, skeletonSusan Bones, grass Daphne Greengrass. In other words, if you don't stop this attack, these three will die.

_**The gauge on the meter will be left at three.**_

Three Slytherins will be left; Crabbe, Zabini, and Millicent.

_**Take the silver needle,**_

_**Where dwells the hearts of ash,**_

_**Greet Danaus's daughter,**_

_**When she comes to pass.**_

This last stanza refers to the myth of Danaus and his daughters. Basically, Danaus had fifty daughters. (He was a king.) His brother, Aegyptus, had fifty sons. Aegyptus wanted Danaus's daughters to wed his sons, although Danaus and his daughters did not want that. After being forced to run, Danaus pretends to Aegyptus that he agrees to his daughters marrying his sons. However, on their wedding night, Danaus gave each of his daughters a knife with orders to kill her new husband. They all obeyed, except for Hypermnestra. She spared Lynceus because he had respected her virginity.

So, this stanza alludes in a purposefully vague way to this myth. The "silver needle" is in reference to the knives Danaus gave his daughters. The "hearts of ash" means the Death Eater spies, saying their hearts are metaphorically black and dead. The last two lines have a double meaning. It refers again to both Parvati and Padma. It is saying "greet" Padma in a friendly way if you run into her; she is powerful and on your side. It also is saying "greet" (i.e. STOP) Parvati when you run into her, she is evil and up to no good.

The fact that Harry dreams of Sirius, Cedric, and the Weasleys who have died, shows they have come to warn him. The thestral obviously represents death, the coming massacre.


	8. The Art of Seduction

**Oh yes, I am JK Rowling, and instead of basking in the glow of finishing HBP, I'm writing crappy fanfiction...**

**Thanks to Normio for beta-ing. Replies to reviews next chapter.**

**Chapter Seven: The Art of Seduction**

It was possible she had just driven Zabini insane. She almost wished he would vomit in disgust, or laugh in her face until he cried. However, Zabini was sitting utterly still, all smugness vanished, staring at her with absolutely no expression on his face. They maintained eye contact, Zabini empty and unblinking, herself squirming in place.

She shifted from foot to foot as her previous blush crept up her neck hotly. The seconds ticked by. It felt like it had been an hour since she had blurted out that she wanted to seduce him, but Hermione knew it had barely been a minute.

"Er… Zabini?" she asked cautiously. "Did you… hear me?" Zabini finally blinked, and shook his head once, as if to clear it.

"Sorry, Granger, I think I went deaf for a moment. Could you repeat that?"

Her eyes narrowed. Was he messing with her? But no, he looked completely sincere. He really thought those words coming out of Hermione Granger's mouth were so implausible that temporary deafness on his part was a more likely reality.

"I… you really didn't hear any of it?" she asked desperately. She licked her lips nervously. Was the git really going to make her repeat it? Once was horrifying enough.

"Well, yes, I heard **_something_,"** Zabini frowned, his brow furrowing. "But I clearly misheard you."

Hermione stared at Zabini, who was now looking at the table. Had he just muttered "wishful thinking" at the end of his sentence?

"You _want _me to seduce you?" she blurted out without thinking. Zabini's head shot up, his mouth slightly open in shock.

"You…_ did _say that?" he gasped. It took a beat for it to sink in to both of them, after which the two had an impromptu contest to see who could blush more. Hermione figured she was winning. Quite frankly, it was shocking her face hadn't yet burst into flames.

"Possibly," she muttered, staring at her feet.

"But… _why_?" Zabini asked, astonished.

Hermione cautiously glanced up in time to witness Zabini's unfortunate return to form.

"I mean, I know I'm ridiculously handsome and witty," Zabini smirked, tilting his chair back onto its legs and putting his arms behind his head. "After all, who _wouldn't _want to seduce me? Couldn't control yourself any longer, could you Granger? Can't say I blame you for-"

"It's because of the repulsion!" she snapped, sick of his ego-driven smugness.

Something quickly flashed in Zabini's eyes that looked suspiciously like hurt, before a smooth, indifferent mask took control of his face. His chair banged to the floor, his arms re-folding in front of his chest.

"So you want to seduce me because I repulse you," he said coldly, his eyebrows arching.

"I… yes… I mean…no," Hermione stammered, flustered. "What I mean is, I want to seduce you because you are repulsed. By me," she clarified.

"You repulse me?" Zabini said evenly, his cool tone becoming icier. His eyebrows were threatening to fly clear off of his face. "_You repulse me_?" he repeated.

"Er…don't I?" Hermione asked, now thoroughly confused.

Zabini conveniently sidestepped the question.

"Granger, I thought you were supposed to be smart. You want to seduce me because you think I am repulsed by you? That doesn't even make sense."

Hermione's confidence returned. Making sense, after all, was what Hermione Granger did best. She pulled out the chair across from Zabini and sat down. She pitched her voice conspiratorially low, causing Blaise to lean forward.

"Do you remember how Professor Lupin and Harry and I were telling you about the order?"

Zabini nodded, his eyes intent on hers.

"Well, I have a mission that's a secret. You can't tell anybody about it Zabini," she warned. He nodded again. "Only Harry and Lupin know. See, the thing is, I need your help." She quickly glanced around to make sure they weren't surrounded by eavesdroppers. "It's a kind of… espionage mission. It's more important than anything the Order has done, and it's dangerous. I might have to know how to seduce someone who has no interest in me, which is why I need your help."

Zabini stared at her strangely.

"Okay Granger, so I understand why you didn't want to ask Potter, but why me?" he asked, frowning.

"Because I trust you," Hermione grudgingly admitted. Damn her blushing capabilities! She was staring at Zabini's left ear again. She chanced a peek at Blaise. His expression was unreadable.

"Oh," he said, his voice slightly higher-pitched than normal. He cleared his throat. "I'm assuming you can't tell me any more about this super-secret mission?" Hermione shook her head in apology. "There's a slight flaw in your plan," Zabini said, and now he was the one avoiding eye contact. "You don't repulse me."

"Not even a little bit?" Hermione asked in consternation. Zabini flushed.

"No." he was still avoiding her gaze.

"Oh," she said, mildly disappointed, yet secretly thrilled at this unexpected revelation. Zabini was, after all, quite good-looking.

"Well, I could certainly think of worse people to seduce," she admitted graciously.

"Oh, be still my beating heart," Zabini drawled, deadpan. "We'll need to work on your compliments first thing, Granger."

"So you'll do it?" she asked eagerly, overlooking the slur on her schmoozing abilities.

"We-ell," Zabini said slowly, "I don't really like the thought of you using me to seduce some other bloke."

"It's not 'using' if you are a willing participant, Zabini," Hermione said in exasperation.

"Yes, yes, good point and all, but it's not the 'using' that bothers me. Use me all you want as your willing sex slave, Granger," Hermione snorted, "it's the you seducing another bloke part that's bothering me. Merlin Granger, I though you were intelligent!" He finished snappishly.

"You're jealous?" she gasped in astonishment. It seemed he was just full of surprises.

"_Yes_!" he bit out as if she were the slowest, most dim-witted person he had ever met. (And considering he had roomed with Crabbe and Goyle for six years, this was saying something.)

"If you are going to go seducing some bloke, it had better damn well be me!" Zabini pounded a fist on the table, his face flushed. It was clear the moment it registered to him what he had just said. "Oh, just kill me, Granger," he moaned in agony, slumping forward with his hand over his eyes. "Just 'Avada' me right now. I've just revealed _feelings_ of all disgusting things, to the most Gryffindor-ist Gryffindor I have ever met, and then threw a tantrum like my name starts with 'Mal' and rhymes with 'toy.'

Hermione took pity on him, and sat down next to him while he repeatedly banged his head on the table.

"Zabini, you're being too hard on yourself," she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. She didn't want the poor boy to get brain damage, after all. "It's not like I _want_ to seduce Rid- this person, after all. I might not even have to, it's just a back-up plan. And either way, I'm going to have to have someone help me learn how to do it. Wouldn't you rather have it be you than some other boy?"

Zabini paused in his relentless assault on his own skull. His head popped up, tilted to the side in deep thought.

"Excellent point, Granger," he said. Then swift as lightening, he grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her.

As Zabini's lips descended on her own, she squeaked in surprise at his abrupt change of heart. Zabini pulled away from her slightly, her face still in his hands, his eyes half shut.

"Lesson one," he breathed, "don't squeak when a bloke kisses you. It doesn't inspire us with confidence."

"Well, anyone would've been surprised, Zabini," Hermione snapped crossly, "the way you just—" he cut her off by kissing her again.

Her second squeak was quickly muffled when _oh_ _my god is that Zabini's **tongue** in my **mouth?**_ Their lips met again. Hermione found herself unconsciously leaning into Zabini, her hands playing with his hair, seemingly of their own violation. One of Zabini's hands had dropped to her back, rubbing her through her uniform. Her own hands were now wandering freely, gripping the fabric of his clothes and letting go. Blaise tugged her towards him, almost into his lap.

"**WHAT are you _doing_!**" a hysterical, shrewish shriek pierced the atmosphere like a needle puncturing a balloon.

Hermione and Blaise leaped apart guiltily, causing their precarious position to collapse, along with themselves, onto a pile on the floor. They were in a tangle of limbs, a livid Madam Pince glaring overhead, hands on hips, her eyes flashing in mingled fury and disgust. Hermione was horribly aware that her current contact with Zabini was even more indicative of teenage hormones run amuck. She fervently prayed that he hadn't seen a glimpse of her knickers from where her skirt had drastically ridden up.

"Deviants!" Madam Pince shrieked. "Dirty little rats, incapable of using my books properly!" They scrambled up, hastily apologizing. Hermione yanked her skirt straight while Zabini feverishly threw his belongings into his bag. Madam Pince was ignoring all desperate attempts to placate her.

"Out! OUT!" she yelled. "I don't ever want to see you defiling my library with your disgusting lust-crazed antics again! And don't come to me with that 'Potter needs to defeat You-Know-Who' rubbish!"

Hermione and Blaise beat a hasty retreat as she continued to throw insults –and the occasional book- at them.

"This is entirely _your_ fault, Zabini," Hermione snapped as they stumbled into the hall. "Now I can't ever go back to the library." Zabini was grinning.

"Did you see the look on her face?" he snickered. "I think that's the most action Pince has gotten in decades."

Hermione rolled her eyes and set off to Gryffindor tower, yanking Zabini along by the hand. Zabini curled his fingers through hers, a small smile on his face.

"Taking me up to your room to corrupt me, darling?" he leered.

"No, I'm taking you to Harry's room," she said absently, while steering him through a group of gaping second years. "Seamus and Dean and Neville will be there as well," she added, oblivious to Zabini's growing delight.

"I had no idea Gryffindors were so kinky," Zabini said, his eyes dancing. "Really Granger, a five-some? I can see how four Gryffindor boys couldn't handle you, but I'm more than enough man for the job," he finished with an even more lascivious leer.

"Zabini, _shut up_," Hermione hissed, her eyes panicked and darting from side to side.

"Why? Can't handle the truth, Granger?" he smirked.

"One, you are making me ill, and furthermore, you're traumatizing the second years," she snapped.

"What?" he scoffed. "No one's paying attention to us."

This wasn't exactly true. After all, the Golden Girl of Gryffindor, best friend of Harry Potter, aka the Boy-Who-Lived, was walking hand in hand with a Slytherin.

Since the recent attacks, an unexpected positive effect had emerged from the ashes. Inter-house unity was at an all-time high. Ernie MacMillan had been spotted snogging Millicent Bulstrode behind a tapestry hanging in the third floor corridor. Zachariah Smith was seen spouting love sonnets to a dreamy eyed Luna Lovegood. And just this morning at breakfast, Dean Thomas and Michael Corner had outed themselves and their torrid affair.

Yet, a Gryffindor and Slytherin match-up was still a shocking development. Particularly in light of the fact that the Gryffindor in question was Hermione Granger, who had almost single-handedly stolen the House Cup from Slytherin a number of years.

Hermione ignored Zabini, who, apparently, lost all senses of perception after a single snog. They were clearly being gawked at, pointed at, and whispered about, and the sooner they could make it safely to Gryffindor tower the better. A sudden loud, choking noise arrested her attention.

Snape was standing frozen in horror, his face turning a putrid green, in the middle of the corridor ahead. Students scurried for cover at the look on his face. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He pointed a finger at the pair, his hand shaking violently.

"You…" he choked at Zabini, "and… and…**_her_**…" he looked at Hermione as if she were an unholy cross between a giant slug and a stink beetle.

Hermione scowled, while Blaise looked highly amused.

"Yep," he chirped to a queasy, swaying Snape, "ours is a miraculous love," he put his arm around Hermione and yanked her next to him. "I know how happy you are to see your favourite two students together, Professor. Stop trying to deny your true feelings. I know it's like a dream come true," he added, gleefully throwing salt into the wound.

Snape was now leaning unsteadily against the wall. His eyes narrowed to slits.

"Ten points from Slytherin for revolting taste," he hissed. Zabini appeared nonplussed. "And fifty points from Gryffindor for ruining my student," he snarled at Hermione with loathing. "I don't know how you did it, Miss Granger, but when I find out which illegal love potion you have been brewing, you'll be expelled!"

"Love potion?" Blaise said jubilantly. "If this is a spell, than I don't want the antidote!" And maliciously grinding salt into the open, festering wound, he laid a resounding "smack" on Hermione's lips.

She dragged Zabini off, done pushing their luck, with Snape's enraged howl ringing in their ears.

* * *

**The Dark Lord's Hideout**

Bellatrix Lestrange smirked as she drew a rusty dagger from inside her robes, a blood-soaked nail at her feet. The dagger was already covered in dried blood; some from her current victim, the rest from previous sufferers of her exquisite skills at torturing. A feeble whimper issued from the mouth of the boy in front of her. He had dark hair and eyes (not that you could tell with all the blood and grime covering him) and looked to be no older than fourteen, at best. He hung limply from stone wall upon which he was chained. Steel manacles wrapped around his wrists, his arms crossed and over his head, clearly only the chains were holding him upright. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't unconscious, although he was close to being so. A Hogwarts Uniform adorned his battered and bruised frame, hanging in tatters, revealing deep gashes criss-crossing along his chest. Blood was spattered all along the floor and wall around him.

Next to him was a girl with panicked, darting eyes, a girl who would be pretty were she not as filthy as the boy next to her. While some of the boy's wounds looked fresh, the dark haired girl's wounds were partially healed. Her arms, also bound above her head, were a mass of spectacularly blooming bruises, in various shades of colour. Some were sickly and yellow-green, others purple and blue, still others a dark red.

Bellatrix pulled her wand out into her left hand.

"Consanesco," she hissed with a wave of the slim birch rod.

Some of the boy's open wounds seamlessly melded back together, as if they had not been there at all. He jerked fully awake, his face a mask of blank terror, and resignation.

Bellatrix placed the tip of the dagger delicately under his chin, the flat side of the blade facing upwards, tilting his head, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"You know you deserve this, don't you Malcolm?" she said in a low purr. She sounded almost pitying, a regretful tone to her voice, a mournful look about her face. Malcolm knew better. She was just like a vindictive, overgrown cat, toying with her pet mouse. She felt no sorrow for him at all. Her dark eyes looked eerily blank, an endless chasm to the madness lurking below.

Malcolm opened his mouth and tried to speak. Failed. Spat out a mixture of blood and saliva and tried again.

"Yes."

"And why is that, Malcolm? Why is it I waste my precious time, teaching you a lesson?"

_Because you are a psychotic loon who is enjoying this_? Was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit the urge back. He certainly wasn't suicidal.

"I failed the Dark Lord," he croaked instead. The girl with long, usually shiny hair that was currently matted and clotted with dried blood watched him with wary eyes. Bellatrix's rage would be taken out on both of them if he failed to answer correctly.

"Yes," Bellatrix said softly, now lightly running the dagger down his throat. A thin trickle of blood followed where the tip had been. "That much, is obvious. But how, little Malcolm? How have you failed our Master?"

He swallowed, hard. Bellatrix was drawing circles in the hollow of his throat, where the blood was beginning to pool.

"I left behind a fellow Death Eater," he said, then stupidly continued in a panic when Bellatrix pressed roughly at his Adam's apple. "But Lady Bellatrix, I thought he was dead! I swear! I wouldn't—"

She silenced him with a swipe of her dagger across his cheek. He shrieked in pain when a flap of skin fell loose from his face.

"Still haven't learned, I see," she said, her eyes now burning with an unholy fever.

A twisted smile played on her thin lips. Granted, this had only been the second time she asked questions. Before, they had been tortured in silence. Well, silence from their tormentors. _They_ had been screaming in agony. She glided over to the girl, whose eyes were round as galleons with terror.

"And what about you, Parvati? Do you know why _you _are here?"

The frightened girl opened her mouth to reply, when she was cut off by the heavy dungeon door swinging open. Bellatrix sighed in exasperation when she saw her husband stroll in, his face a thundercloud.

"_There_ you are," he said irritably, "I've been looking for you everywhere." He scowled hideously.

Bellatrix was intrigued. Ever since Azkaban, Rodolphus had been listless and lacking fire, the manic energy that had fuelled his every action. What could possibly have enraged him so? The only thing she could think of was

"I'm going to murder that horrible Weasley brat, Bellatrix, I mean it, I don't care what the Dark Lord does to me, it will be worth it!" Rodolphus spat out a stream of profanities, and agitatedly stalked closer to her, rubbing his face with his hand.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, and turned towards her husband, but not before idly swiping her dagger down the chained girl's collarbone. A yelp came from the girl, whose shirt began reddening further where Bellatrix had cut. The Lestranges ignored her.

"What did the little slut do now, dearest?" Bellatrix asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rodolphus clenched and unclenched his fists, clearing itching to punch the absent Dark Lord's wife.

"Throwing a tantrum, as usual," Rodolphus groused, gritting his teeth. "Some rubbish about her diary gone missing or something, she's blaming everyone and everything for its disappearance."

"She probably left it by the toilet again," Bellatrix mused.

Rodolphus threw himself down on a couch he conjured from midair in a huff.

"Well, yes, that's where I looked first, but it's not there! I even looked between her dream journal and her charts of her monthly cycle—"

A loud snicker sounded from the girl. Bellatrix flung the dagger at her without looking, and it imbedded itself in her hand. She screamed an agonized wail.

Bellatrix lounged next to Rodolphus on the couch, and trailed her fingertips along his arm.

"Darling," she drawled, "don't trouble yourself with that insufferable nuisance. I have taken care of it. I know how she bothers you and—"

Rodolphus sat upright in a flash, his eyes blazing.

"Bella, did _you_ do it? Did you—"

"Yes," she cut him off with a grin. "I sent it to the Potter boy. He will no doubt be seeking revenge at any time."

Rodolphus stared at her as if they were in the middle of the desert and she was a tall glass of water. Without speaking, he lunged towards her, knocked them over on the couch, crushing her below him. Her eyes sparkled wickedly. With the girl's screams of misery echoing in their ears, he ripped his wife's robes open violently.


	9. Preparations

**A/N: If you think I am JKR, I also have a lovely crumple-horned snorkack I would love to sell you….**

Many Thanks to my reviewers since I last thanked you guys, it really means a lot to hear that people are reading and enjoying. I have some review rewards to hand out:

**Keeper of Blaise's Quips, also known as The Multiple Review Award:** El Ci Aech Johnson, Sailor Moon Rose, and Kou Shun'u, ReeferxMadness

**Bellatrix's Tamer, also knows as The Beta Award:** Normio, of course. Love ya babe!

**Keeper of Harry's Temper, also known as The Update Motivation Award:** Ms. Anime Malfoy, fly on the wall, Cinammon, roxythewriter, peacock5, Avery-Rose-Rain-Slytherin

**Keeper of Lupin's chocolates, also known as The Sweet Words Award:** BrennaM, marauder no. 5

**Keeper of Hermione's Study Habits, also known as The Long Review Award:** Luna-Chan, El Ci Aech Johnson, Delayed Poet, Kou Shun

**Keeper of Percy's Primness, also Known as the Constructive Criticism/Questioner Award: **BIGHARRYFAN, C4t3 ("brillo" is a brand of a cleaning product, a sort of sponge thing that is messy and curly looking)

If I left anyone out, feel free to eat my first born.

**Chapter Eight: Preparations**

Dusk was approaching, the sky a blaze of reds and oranges. Hermione was sitting on a blanket by the lake, engrossed in a large novel on Psychology. Harry was flopped on his back next to her, animatedly discussing Quidditch with Zabini, who was lounging on her other side. They had skipped dinner, which promised to contain staring classmates, highly amused Professors, and a glowering Snape, and had a picnic prepared by Dobby outside.

Hermione was half engrossed in her book; the other half of her overactive brain was replaying the events of the previous few nights. How the sixth year Gryffindor boys, plus Katie, plus Zabini, plus Michael Corner, had instructed her in the ways of seducing a 17 year old boy who was (presumably) heterosexual. Dean had raided her closet, and the group had made Hermione go behind a screen and try on outfit after outfit for their approval. Everyone had had a go at making her hair tamable, (and failing, utterly and completely.) Then, Katie had suggested making Hermione answer questions in relation to boys and gaining their fancy. Of course, only Zabini and Harry knew exactly why she needed this knowledge, and only Harry knew what boy in particular. This made the advisory session somewhat difficult. Coupled with the differing of opinions, and… well…

* * *

"Name the three things guys find most attractive in a girl," Harry rattled off over the top of a scroll of parchment he had been ticking items off of.

"Physically or emotionally?" Hermione asked wearily, biting her lip.

"Both," Seamus cut in.

Hermione heaved a sigh.

"Emotionally. Kindness, intelligence, and honesty," she listed.

Seamus looked disgusted, Zabini's eyes narrowed hawkishly, Neville looked confused, and Michael gave a loud, fake snore. Hermione refused to be put off.

"Physically: eyes, face, smile."

Katie gave a loud snort, Dean burst out laughing, and even Harry looked bewildered.

"_What_?" Hermione inquired testily.

"Look, Hermione, guys are a bunch of perverts," Michael explained impatiently. The other males in the room nodded, except for Harry and Neville, who looked vaguely insulted. "I fancy blokes, and even I can tell you that guys look at tits, arses, and---"

"Legs!" interjected Seamus.

"Abs!" put in Dean.

"Hair," Neville disagreed.

"Eyes," Zabini insisted.

"They don't look at anything besides breasts and arses," Katie grumbled under her breath with a scowl.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway, none of that is in my favor," Hermione said exasperatedly. "Especially not my _hair_," she said witheringly.

Too many occupants of the room snorted in agreement, causing Hermione to glare around at them all. Harry hastily hacked a fake cough for cover, which in turn caused Michael to cough a loud "Whipped!" into his hand. Harry threw his Transfiguration book at his head in retaliation.

"Fine," she said icily, "next question."

Harry picked his list back up.

"What is the best way to let a bloke know you are interested in them?" he read dutifully.

"Tell them," Hermione said immediately.

"_Absolutely_ not!" Katie yelped. "Where is the mystery, where is the chase? You have to play hard to get."

"No!" Zabini looked appalled. "She was right the first time. Guys hate girls playing mind games."

Neville nodded wisely.

"But desperate girls are just…" seemingly unable to come up with the correct word, Seamus made a horrific face.

Instantly, the room descended into a chaotic cacophony of arguments, which culminated in a deadly pillow fight. The House Elves would be cleaning feathers out of the room for days.

* * *

Hermione was brought out of her reverie when Harry paused in his gesticulating to consult his watch.

"We should get a move-on," he said, "don't want Zabini to be late for his first meeting of the order."

Hermione snapped her books shut with a puff of dust. "Good thinking, Harry," she said decisively. "I don't fancy being stuck sitting next to Snape, either," she continued, standing up.

Zabini snickered along with Harry, and lazily draped an arm around her shoulder.

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry grinned, gathering up the blanket and shoving it inside his robes, "it's kind of nice having Snape hate someone more than me."

He and Zabini laughed again, and Hermione irritably pursed her lips in a scowl. Zabini leaned in and kissed her neck in what she deduced was an apology for laughing at her.

"You shouldn't make that face, unless you plan on ditching Potter and the meeting," he murmured, nuzzling her neck. Harry pretended to be fascinated with the doors to the castle as they ambled through.

Hermione fought a rising blush in exasperation.

"Zabini, you are the only one weird enough to get," she lowered her voice, "_turned on _by me looking angry."

"Au contraire!" he said, leaving a trail of wet kisses up her neck, "I think any male at Hogwarts finds your prim, righteous fury sexy."

Hermione was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain indignity when Zabini was doing such enjoyable things to her neck. "Wouldn't you agree, Potter?" he added, licking her ear.

"Anthony Goldstein said no one else was as hot just by holding a ruler," Harry said helpfully.

Zabini's attention violently snapped away from her to Harry. Hermione unwittingly made a small noise of protest.

"He said **_what_**?" Zabini growled dangerously, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, and Justin Fintch-Fletchley said she could dock points from him any day," Harry continued obliviously.

Zabini looked murderous. Hermione was stunned that anyone though of her in that way in the first place. She leaned over and placed a peck on Zabini's cheek, who was pouting magnificently. His pushed-out lower lip alone conveyed a vast array of disgruntlement. It retracted slightly with her kiss.

"I'll have to have a _word_ with _Goldstein_ and _Fintch-Fletchley_," he muttered mutinously as the walked down the corridor.

"You will do no such thing," Hermione snapped. "Am I snogging Justin or Anthony? No. Am I snogging you?"

"Oh, god, _constantly_," Harry moaned from beside her. Peeves cackled loudly from his pose on a nearby vase.

Hermione did her best to glare at Harry, Zabini, and Peeves simultaneously. She was less than successful.

"The point, Zabini," she continued, after a final glare at Harry, "is that—"

"Oh, look, here we are," Harry said, hastily interrupting. The stone gargoyle loomed ahead.

They muttered the password, (_Homer_) and stepped into the revolving staircase. Harry pushed open the door, and Zabini looked around, stunned. Clearly, he had never been sent to the Headmaster's office before.

The chatter inside Lupin's office died down when the occupants (both human and portrait) swiveled to see the new arrivals. Luckily, they were not the last to show up; Fred and George were nowhere to be seen, although Percy was standing by the snack table with a cup of punch in his hand. Most of the new recruits had not shown up yet either, although Millicent Bulstrode, Edith Lodgeman, and Byron Whosiwhatsis were standing uncomfortably in the corner with four other Slytherins. Fleur, who had been chattering to Professor Lupin (who was eating a chocolate croissant and staring blankly with a glazed look in his eyes), spotted them.

"'Arry!" she squealed loudly, causing most conversation to cease, "'Arry Potter! And 'Ermione!" she all but leaped over to them, swooping down and kissing their cheeks. "It eez so good to see you!" she gushed happily. She noticed Zabini. "I believe we 'ave not met," she said curiously.

"Fleur, this is Zabini. Er…" Harry stuttered, "Blaise Zabini. He's joining tonight as well."

"Zat eez excellent!" she trilled happily. "Any friend of 'Arry's eez a friend of mine," she finished, kissing him as well.

Hermione felt a bizarre coupling of faint jealously and déjà vu.

The door opened again before Blaise could form a response out of his blushing and stammering, emitting a small crowd of students. Hermione recognized many faces from the DA, and even more from the night of the junior Death Eater attacks.

There was all of the sixth-year Hufflepuffs still alive; Sam Capper, Ernie, Justin, Megan Jones, Hannah Abbott, and Susan Bones, who had a bandage wrapped around her head, and a half-healed bruise on her cheek. Zacharias Smith, wobbling on crutches, and Tim Summerby, the last of the Seventh year Hufflepuffs, were right behind them. Last came a few more Hufflepuffs Hermione recognized by face, but not by name.

The Ravenclaw contingent was next, all four of the still living (and non traitorous) sixth-years; Morag MacDougal, Padma Patil, Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner. Luna Lovegood was there as well, along with a number of others.

Finally the Gryffindors came. Katie, -the last of the older Gryffindor girls besides Hermione- Neville, Dean, Seamus, and five others. Madam Pomfrey brought up the rear, helping little third year Slytherin Kyle Stebbins hobble into the room. It was his first time out of the hospital wing, or being allowed to see anyone. Immediately, Zabini and the other Slytherins rushed over to greet him, fussing over him and setting him down into a chair. Hermione heard Fleur draw a sharp gasp of surprise next to her.

Indeed, Stebbins looked horrible. He was covered in scars, remnants of the cuts he had received from one of Voldemort's new potions. Scars ran every which way over every inch of exposed skin, even on his eyelids and ears. A particularly vicious, reddish purple scar was slashed across his neck.

Lupin hastened over to Kyle with a handful of biscuits and a cup of punch, twittering over him for a moment, before Snape became infuriated upon the infringement on "his" student, and the two had an impromptu battle over who could out-comfort. Needless to say, Snape was losing horribly before Kingsley Shacklebolt attempted to call the meeting into order.

"Is everyone here?" he inquired in his deep baritone.

"No," Percy heaved the sigh of the long-suffering, "my brothers aren't here yet."

As if waiting for their cue, the door banged open, emitting the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan, and Alicia Spinnet. They were all sweaty, disheveled, and irritable looking. The rest of the occupants of the room thought it would be prudent not to ask for explanations.

"Ah hem. Right," Percy said, annoyed, "we can get started."

Snape and Lupin were still shooting dark looks at each other over poor Kyle Stebbins' head, so Kingsley took over. He cleared his throat and began speaking to the assembled group.

"Welcome, those of you who have not been here before, to the Order of the Phoenix. You have all been selected for membership based on your past deeds, and a series of screening tests to make sure of your loyalty to the cause of destroying Voldemort," mass wincing, shuddering, and involuntary shrieking occurred, "and his supporters."

The screenings in question had been designed by Kingsley, Percy, and Snape, part drilled questions, part veritaserum, part Legilmency, part checking of left forearms.

Percy had nearly gone into an apoplectic fit upon hearing that neither the entire population of Hogwarts or Hogsmeade had been checked before for the Dark Mark (_Do I have to think of everything for you morons? Unbelievable! It's a surprising You-Know-Who hasn't won years ago with a bunch of such incompetent nitwits around!_) a fact which was soon rectified. Kingsley's baritone broke through Hermione's musings.

"… and we are honored to have you join our numbers. I can't pretend it will be easy—"

A loud roar of crackling flames sounded from the fireplace, interrupting him. The green flames blazed high, before two shapes emerged, hacking on ash, from the fire.

An immediate panicked uproar came from all of the new inductees when they recognized the two choking men.

Flint and Pucey were wearing their long black death Eater robes, and were bent double, gasping for breath as if they had run a great distance. Both also looked exceedingly pale.

Zabini, who was holding her hand (and had previously been glaring daggers at the bewildered pair of Justin Fintch-Fletchley and Anthony Goldstein,) tightened his grip unknowingly, crushing her fingers together. Hermione yanked her hand out of his bruising grip, and glanced at Blaise's face in alarm. He was staring at Flint and Pucey as if they were ghosts; a rising fury twisting his otherwise handsome face. Nor was he the only one to look that way, all of the Slytherins present looked infuriated.

Millicent Bulstrode was the first to find her voice.

"Bastards," she hissed with venom. "Traitorous bastards!" She lunged forward to attack her two former housemates, and was only prevented from doing so by the combined efforts of Krum, Wood, and Sturgis Podmore.

"Enough!" Professor Lupin bellowed over the chaos. "Adrian and Marcus are on our side! They are invaluable allies to the order, and there will be no attacking by anyone!"

Millicent, who was glowering and breathing heavily through her nose, desisted. The other Slytherins followed suit, and Zabini reclaimed Hermione's hand after pressing an apologetic kiss to her knuckles.

While both Pucey and Flint looked shocked at the unexpected number of people crowding the office, Flint recovered first with a shake of his head.

"Sorry to interrupt Professors," he was speaking to both Lupin and Snape, "but it's important. They've been keeping us in training; we haven't even seen each other in days. Adrian just told me now."

"Told you what, Marcus?" Snape snapped impatiently.

"Well, see, the thing is, we found Ginny Weasley."

If the previous disorder had been bad, it didn't have anything on the explosion of sound that occurred at this news. Percy, Fred, and George all rushed at Flint; as if they were sure he was hiding Ginny in his cloak.

Hermione's heart dropped like a stone. She heard Harry draw in a sharp breath next to her. It had been foolish not to reveal Ginny's diary and her whereabouts to the order, but neither of them could bear the thought of the anguish sure to show on the Weasley's faces at their little sister's betrayal. Better for them to think her dead.

"Oh God, no…" Harry hissed under his breath on her left. Zabini was looking back and forth between them, his brow creasing.

_Please,_ begged Hermione fervently in her head, _please don't do it…._

Even if she _had_ managed to telepathically send this info to Flint, he ignored her completely.

"She's a Death Eater."

* * *

**The Owlery, midnight**

A cold breeze softly rustled Hermione's hair as she leaned on the window ledge. Her elbows rested on the stone edgings of one of the windows in the Owlery. The room behind her was almost empty; most of the owls were either delivering mail, or out hunting. She had gone up here to escape the accusing faces that kept flashing inside her head; the bewildered, betrayed expressions on Fred, George, and Percy's countenances when they had produced the hateful diary from Harry's bag.

She stared at the stars overhead, as the horrifying interrogation ran on an endless loop in her thoughts.

_No, they hadn't been thinking._

_Yes, they knew it was wrong to hide information from the Order._

_No, they didn't know who sent the diary, or why._

_Yes, Ginny was evil._

_No, they hadn't been able to discern why._

The wooden door opposite to her window creaked open. Hermione sighed in resignation.

"Not able to sleep after that either, Harry?"

"It's me," a male voice answered that was most definitely not Harry. She spun around.

"Oh. Sorry. Zabini," she said stiltedly. He stood across the room, his face hidden in shadow. "How did you find me?"

He shrugged. "Potter decided I was un-evil enough to show me the map," he said casually, putting his hands in his pockets. "You were right. He's still awake as well."

"Oh." She turned back to the window, placing her chin in her hands.

"Do… d'you want me to leave?" Zabini sounded uncharacteristically uncertain.

"No," she said quietly.

She heard him move across the floor until he was next to her. After a few minutes of silence, he broke the atmosphere awkwardly.

"I'm sorry about Weasley."

"Me too," Hermione answered simply.

"They shouldn't have acted that way to you and Potter, though," he said, his voice becoming indignant. "As if you two don't have enough to worry about! As if it were your fault she was evil or something! As if—"

Hermione broke off his tirade by pushing him against the stone wall and kissing him furiously. Blaise made a startled "mmph" of surprise, before rallying and responding eagerly.

Hermione pulled slightly away when she ran out of breath, Zabini was panting as hard as she was, looking stunned.

"Wow," he said, astonished, "you're becoming really good at this seducing thing, Granger," the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

The side of her mouth slanted upwards, mimicking his, against her will. She grabbed his tie, yanking him towards her, and kissed him again. One of her hands remained on the green and silver striped fabric, the other curled around his shoulder. Blaise's hands were doing more wandering then he had previously allowed them to; and in her recent feeling of reckless abandon, she didn't care. Hermione's hand released his tie, and began sliding inside his robes, under his jumper, to the buttons on his white shirt. Zabini gave a strangled noise she interpreted as "gnuh," as she began to snake her other hand underneath his clothing, along the smooth lines of his abdomen. Just as the pad of her index finger brushed against his nipple, Zabini grabbed her hand, stilling her upward motion.

"Granger," he rasped, his voice still strangled, "what are you doing?"

"Seducing you," Hermione responded. (The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that she used her "it's all in _Hogwarts, a History_, duh!" voice.)

"Ah," Blaise answered eloquently.

"Where's Crabbe?" Hermione asked, apropos of nothing.

"Crabbe?" Zabini said blankly. The haze of lust previously clouding his eyes was slowly fading. "You're thinking about _Crabbe_ while you are snogging me?"

"No," Hermione said impatiently, "I was wondering where Crabbe was, because I would like to go to your room, and not have any interruptions."

She had to wait a few minutes for Zabini to stop making astonished noises, and become coherent again.

"I don't…" he stammered, "he's probably… in the kitchens. Never leaves them these days, practically. He thinks eating éclairs saved his life, or something."

"So there's no one in your dorm," Hermione prompted.

"I don't… think so…"

"Good," Hermione said, pleased. "Let's go there."

"Sweet Salazar's scrotum!" Zabini exclaimed. "Who are you, and what have you done with that uptight teacher's pet, Granger?"

Hermione was too busy laughing hysterically to respond. Zabini glared at her as she doubled in half, paralyzed in her mirth.

"_Sweet Salazar's scrotum_?" she choked out incredulously. "Is that some Slytherin thing? I suppose you think Gryffindors run around cursing Godric's gonads, or something?"

Zabini snickered against his will.

"And Ravenclaws swear by Rowena's rump," he put in gleefully.

"Hufflepuffs invoke wrath in the name of Helga's hind quarters," Hermione giggled. They laughed together, the heated atmosphere of a moment ago diffusing.

"No really, Granger," Zabini said when he had gotten back in control of himself. "Not that doesn't sound like fun, but are you feeling alright? We don't have to… do that, you know, if you don't want to."

Hermione studied the face of the boy before her. Zabini was trying valiantly to hold back a blush, and was looking at a spot over her head on the wall. She supposed he was humiliated at losing all of his supposed bad reputation as a Slytherin. He was a nice guy, Zabini. In time, she might have been able to love him, had she met him sooner. But she hadn't, and she could be dead within a few days time, either by a fault of her own, or by the hand of Tom Riddle. It was too late for little girl fairy tales of the handsome prince on the white horse, but he deserved the truth, at least.

"To be honest, Zabini," she said slowly, "I could be dead by the start of next week, and I don't particularly want to die a virgin."

Blaise opened his mouth, probably to protest her possible death, but Hermione ploughed on before he got a word out.

"Don't argue with me, Zabini, it's true. I'm not complaining, just stating the facts. And while dying a virgin isn't that horrible a fate, losing it to Ri--- a monster, is infinitely worse."

Zabini looked troubled. "How about losing it because the other person is desperate? Out of _pity_?"

Hermione paused. _Did he mean…?_

"Cause I'm not so sure I want to lose mine that way," he said, frowning.

She was silent with shock for a moment.

"Oh," she choked out, "I wasn't aware."

"I figured you weren't. Assumed I lost it at twelve, during a dungeon orgy?"

To his credit, only a hint of bitterness betrayed him.

"No," she said vehemently, "I just thought… well, you are rather handsome. I guessed you had many opportunities."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Who says I didn't?" he said cockily. "Except, well, I didn't, actually," he amended.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Okay," she said slowly, "I'm sorry I unfairly judged you."

She started to walk towards the door. Zabini grabbed her arm.

"Wait!" he said, somewhat louder than he needed to, "I didn't say no!" he smiled, a trifle smugly.

She felt an unnerving amount of relief, and smiled a little in return.

"Well, you're just a tease, aren't you, Zabini?"

* * *

**Forbidden Forest**

It was dark outside. Wind was gently blowing the limbs of nearby trees. The candle's flames flickered, but remained lit. The small figure crouched at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, far away from the windows of Hogwarts, raised her cloak's hood over her bushy mass of hair with a nervous sigh.

Hermione was kneeling in the middle of a small clearing, in a patch of grass she had just cleared of debris a moment before. A twig was digging into her stocking clad knee painfully. She glanced at her hand-written instructions before starting on her next step. Dipping a paintbrush into her concoction of Peragro potion, she painted a circle around herself, five feet in diameter. She got up, relieving the offending twig from her leg from with a yank, and tossed it outside the circle. She glanced appraisingly at her work, than carefully painted a five-point star inside the circle, completing the pentagram.

Being careful not to burn herself of drip any wax, she placed the lit candles along the lines of her paint. Had there been anyone flying on a broomstick above Hogwarts and it's ground, they would've seen a pentagram of light shining below. Hermione grasped a handful of concentrated floo powder, and retreated back to the center of the star. She flung it an arc, from left to right, like her notes had said. She had already moved her trunk and Crookshanks' basket next to her.

After the… _events_ of two days ago, she had known without a doubt it was time to travel to the past. Horrible things kept happening, and her own selfish sense of self-preservation was all that was keeping her inactive. She didn't regret having sex with Zabini, a fact which she was eminently grateful for. Supposedly, according to the girly gossip of her peers, one was meant to feel _grown up _and _womanly_ after losing one's virginity, but all she felt was warm, comforting feeling of relief. Now, even if she _was_ forced to sleep with Riddle for the good of humanity, she would have the sentimentality and awkwardness of her first time out of the way.

She perused her notes one last time before unlatching her trunk and placing the notebook full of information on Aeternus Lapideus inside. The wind picked up, making the candles' flames flicker more than ever. With trembling fingers that revealed her anxiety, she unclasped her carnelian necklace from around her neck. The matching ring remained s safely on her index finger of her right hand. She glanced longingly back at Hogwarts, a shudder of fear rippling through her. Harry and Zabini and Lupin were going to be so furious with her.

_If she ever even saw them again,_ a cruelly amused voice whispered in the back of her head. _Or if she managed not to botch up the spell and splinch herself. Or worse, somehow unraveled the very fabric of time._

Hermione was frozen in fear and doubt. _For goodness sake, she was a Gryffindor,_ she thought angrily. Still she couldn't bring herself to complete the ritual. A voice broke into her thoughts.

_"And you think we're going to go around wearing badges saying SPEW on them, do you?"_

"_Who are you going to the Yule ball with?"_

"_And what would your boggart be? A piece of homework that got only 9/10?"_

Ron . She had avoided thinking about Ron like it was the bubonic plague. It always choked her up. She was a frozen lake of ice, and every time something bad happened, in her life, a crack appeared and spider-webbed. She figured thinking about Ron would only cause her to fall in. Strangely, hearing Ron's voice now, planted a new seed of strength in her. His vaguely taunting words served the purpose they always had, lighting a fuse in her. With a fire burning in her eyes, she clenched the pendant in her left hand, pulling out her wand into her right. She took a deep, steadying breath, than recited the incantation to the night.

Immediately, her wand sparked and crackled. It glowed red. The carnelian gemstone in her fist began to burn. Her teeth grit together, riding out the pain. Hermione was certainly not going to let go after all of this just because of a blister. Without warning, it happened. The candles flamed three feet in height. Fallen leaves swirled around her in a miniature tornado. The night whirred and blurred around her, changing to streaks of colour. She was lifted off of her feet, twisting and turning in the howling tunnel around her.

Abruptly, she was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, face-first into the grass.


	10. Meetings and Greetings

**A/N: Update quick enough for ya? Sorry about the delay before, damn waitressing job! Anyway, thanks to my reviewers, kitty28, Reefer Madness, charmedchik11, fly, Cinammon, and El Ci Aech Johnson. Big ups to Normio for beta-ing.  
**

**Chapter Nine: Meetings and Greetings**

"Ugh,' Hermione moaned.

She must have dropped ten feet down. For a second she considered just laying there, until good sense overcame this and snapped her eyes open. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and examined her surroundings. The ground was empty of paint and candles. There was no cleared ground, a fact which was apparent by the crackling leaves under her hands. The trees were still in full, green, bloom. Wincing, she clambered awkwardly to her feet, brushing herself off in the process. Spotting her trunks and Crookshanks next to her, Hermione muttered a bewitchment to have it hover after her. Shoving her wand back into her pocket, she checked the damage to her other hand. She unfurled it grudgingly.

"Damn!" she swore. "Damn, damn, _damn_!"

The Carnelian had cracked down the middle. No wonder it had gotten so hot. There went any chance of re-appearing back in her time instantaneously. Harry was really going to kill her. Hermione tore her ivory scarf from her neck. The weather was significantly warmer, and she was starting to get overheated. Whether this was from overexcitement, or the change of temperature, was anyone's guess. Things were looking up. If it had all gone right, she should be back in early September of 1943. She put the now unnecessary scarf and broken necklace into her hovering trunk, picked up Crookshanks' basket, and set off for the castle.

Rounding a bend of trees, she spotted the second excellent sight of the evening. Hagrid's hut was substantially larger. The perimeter was slightly wider, and there were two stories. She passed by a lighted window that glowed a soft yellow through the plaid curtains. She trudged towards the castle, panic and a rising hope waging war in her stomach. Many of the castle's windows were lit as well. Climbing the steps, her heart racing, she stopped outside the large entrance's closed doors. A quick, last minute inspection was needed of her appearance. Her uniform was subtly, yet distinctly different than usual. Her jumper was plain grey, with no colored trim around the edge. There was no tie around her neck. No prefect badge or Gryffindor crest adorned her plain black robes. Her black pleated skirt had come down to just past her knees instead of the usual just above them. Dark stocking gave way to a higher heeled version of the standard black Mary-Janes. With a final, desperate, and ultimately doomed attempt to make her hair appear curly, not bushy, Hermione opened the doors and went inside.

Immediately, the sounds of the school eating in the Great Hall came from the right. She wavered, indecisive on her course of motion, when it was taken out of her hands. The Malfoy clone from the pensieve (What was his name? Ignatius? Ichabod?) was walking down the marble staircase to her left, heatedly arguing with a younger, fem-Malfoy. (_Oh, for heaven's sake, two of them?)_ They crossed the floor towards the Great Hall before they noticed her.

"Oh, hello," the boy said, surprised. "I didn't see you there." The girl looked annoyed, though it was unclear whether it was at her or at the Malfoy-clone.

_Showtime_, Hermione thought grimly. She smiled winningly.

"That's all right, I just came in. I'm new to Hogwarts, so I'm afraid I don't really know where to go," Hermione said apologetically.

"New?" The girl said sharply, "Another Beauxbatons refugee? Why didn't you come last week with everyone else? And you certainly don't sound French," she finished accusingly.

"Audrey," the boy reprimanded sharply.

"Well, that's because I'm not. I'm English," Hermione said still smiling, while inwardly fighting the urge to slap the girl. "And I'm not from Beauxbatons. My parents tutored me at home, and they were killed recently by Hitler's followers. I don't have anywhere else to go" she finished, making herself look properly anguished. (It wasn't hard to do; she had a large quantity of sad memories to think of for inspiration.) The Malfoy clone looked sympathetic, but the girl looked as cold as ever.

"I doubt the Headmaster will even let you in," she said haughtily. "You'll be way behind," she narrowed her eyes, and tossed her short, platinum blond bob that was artfully curled away from her face. "Hitler killed your parents? Isn't he that Muggle? So you're Muggle-born?" she sneered, her lip curling.

"Audrey, that's enough," the boy said sharply. "Go to supper, I'll take care of this," he ordered.

The girl silently acquiesced, shooting contemptuous glares at Hermione the whole way. Hermione stared back, her expression one of deepest loathing. If that uppity little bitch had any idea about what she was capable of, she would think twice before pissing her off.

"I'm sorry about all that," a voice broke into her thoughts. She started; she had almost forgotten he was there. "Sometimes I can't believe she's my sister," he said with a faraway look. His gaze snapped back to her, and he strode forward, his hand outstretched. "Igneus Malfoy at your service," he said charmingly. "Seventh-year Ravenclaw, Head Boy, and most handsome bloke in the school."

Hermione barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and had to remind herself that seducing and/or befriending people didn't involve developing the reputation of a shrew.

"Hermione Granger," she said shaking his hand. She was planning on changing the course of history for goodness sake; there was no point in hiding her identity with a fake name.

"Shall I take you to the Headmaster's office? I believe he's there," Igneus inquired politely.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said.

"This way," he turned, going back up the marble staircase. "And there's no need for thanks. As Head Boy, I get the enviable duty of escorting gorgeous new students around the castle," he flirted. Her smile was growing more and more strained. She ducked her head, feigning embarrassment.

"So, Hermione," he said, as he led her upstairs, "please make all my dreams come true, and tell me you will be in your seventh year."

She smiled a faux apology. "I'm afraid not, Igneus, she said, pretending to look disappointed, "I am starting my sixth year."

Igneus made a dramatic show of clutching his heart.

"Alas" he gasped, "you have broken my will to live, my lovely! I suppose I will have to hold onto the hope you will be in Ravenclaw with me."

"I thought that Mafoys were always in Slytherin," she said. Immediately, she bit her tongue, hard. Too late. Igneus looked at her curiously.

"Oh, half and half, are you?" he said knowledgably. "I suppose you would have to be, to already know magic," he finished thoughtfully.

He turned back to her as they passed the silent form of the Bloody Baron gliding in the opposite direction.

"Normally Malfoy is synonymous with Slytherin," he said cheerfully, "but I happen to be the black sheep of the family. I think the only reason I haven't been disowned yet is because I made Head Boy." He didn't look particularly broken up about it. "My sister Audrey, though, is a Slytherin. Fifth year," he added. "And then there are my cousins, Phobos and Dougal. They're in Slytherin, sixth years, like you, but nowhere near as witty or dashing as me. To be honest with you," he said, halfway grinning, "they look a bit rat-like. All pointed and pasty."

Hermione fought the urge to laugh. "While you are the epitome of a tanned god?" she teased.

"I'll have you know my complexion has a rosy glow to it," he said primly. Hermione grinned. "But honestly now, you should watch out for the three of them. They hold some pretty stupid prejudices against people such as yourself. And watch out for the Blacks as well. They are a prominent pure-blooded family."

"Let me guess," Hermione said dryly, "Slytherins?"

"I cold tell you were a smart girl right away," Igneus said admiringly. "Alphie, he isn't so bad, he's a second year, but the rest of his brothers and cousins and what-have-you, are real nightmares."

"Any sixth years?" Hermione asked. Igneus thought for a moment.

"Estelle is a sixth year, and she's a terror. It's not all bad, though. This girl Dorcas Meadows, she's in my house, she's a swell girl. In your year, you know. And one of my best mates, Tom, he's a sixth year."

"Oh, is he also a Ravenclaw?" Hermione asked casually.

"No, he's a Slytherin. But they're not all bad, that's just a myth," Igneus said. "Oh, here we are."

They had arrived outside the statue of the gargoyle.

"Headmaster Dippet's office is right up here," he pointed. "Laurence Olivier," he stated to the statue. It leapt aside, revealing the revolving staircase. "He has a thing for Muggle actors," Igneus shrugged. "Alas, my sweet," Igneus intoned melodramatically, flinging his palm facing out on his brow, "here we must part, all too soon. If you'll excuse me, I must go weep bitterly into my plate of bangers and mash, agonizing over the loss of your company." He grabbed her hand, kissed the back of it, and sauntered back down the corridor, whistling.

Hermione's jaw was hanging open. A Malfoy had just hit on her. A **_Malfoy_** had just **_hit on her._** Repeatedly. A Malfoy had also willingly touched her. She wondered if dear old Draco had even known of the existence of this relative, or if he was just a dirty family secret. Between a cocky, bizarre, flirty Malfoy and a cocky, sneering prat Malfoy, she would choose Igneus any day.

She stepped into the revolving staircase, the door closing behind her. She drifted upwards, a nervous ball of energy in her stomach. The door with the Griffin knocker appeared. She stepped off the stairs, and rapped the knocker sharply.

"Come in," a thin voice called.

Opening the door, she stepped into Armando Dippet's office. She recognized him instantly from Harry's memories in the Pensieve. He was an elderly, frail looking wizard, somewhat dwarfed by the large desk he sat behind.

"Hello," she said nervously. "My name is Hermione Granger. I believe you received my owl informing you I was coming?"

Dippet looked momentarily confused before her ruse worked like a charm.

"Oh, yes, of course," he said. "New student, are you dear? I'm afraid I lost your information, you see, I receive so many owls," he waved his hand helplessly at the piles of parchment on his desk.

Hermione smiled as charmingly as she could, and opened her trunk. Shuffling through her crammed belongings, she detached a sheaf of parchment, handing it to Dippet. While he read her flawlessly forged documents, she glanced around the office. It was very different from Dumbledore's mound of magical instruments, complete with Phoenix, and Lupin's collection of DADA paraphernalia. For one thing, it was a mess. Piles upon piles of miscellaneous rolls of parchments stuck out of every crevice. Half eaten food littered every available service. There was a crumpled heap of robes in one corner, and even a pointed wizard's hat hanging from one of the many portraits of past heads of Hogwarts. Dippet looked up.

"Well, everything seems to be in order here Miss, uh," he glanced at her papers, "Miss Granger. Now, if you'll just try on the sorting hat…"

Dippet made to pull the hat off of a peg on the wall. His hand closed on thin air. The peg was empty.

"Oh, balderdash," he said exasperatedly. "I forgot. It's in maintenance for repairs." He heaved a sigh, and then picked her paperwork back up. "Ah yes, a Virgo…" he muttered to himself, "an Earth sign…" he lunged forward and grabbed her palm. Dippet traced her hand with a knotted finger. "Yes, yes… and this- oh, and this too-" he dropped her palm. "Yes, dear girl, you are undoubtedly a Gryffindor," he said, nodding his head.

"What?" Hermione blurted in horror. "Oh, Professor, n-- can't I wait till the hat is repaired? I really think I'm more of a Slytherin," she cajoled, desperate.

Dippet was shaking his head.

"No, the hat is undergoing its strenuous renewal ritual. It has to be cleansed thoroughly, and any possible rips mended. No, Gryffindor will work out fine for you," he said, getting up out of his chair.

He walked over to a tall wardrobe and yanked the doors open. A pile of uniforms fell out. He glanced at Hermione appraisingly, and then picked out a few items. Dippet handed her a large pile of Gryffindor edged sweaters, ties, and patches. He pointed at the latter.

"You can just charm those onto your robes," he said. "Well, shall we go down to supper? You can meet your new housemates, and I'm feeling a mite hungry, myself."

Hermione put her new uniforms into her trunk and started to hover it behind her again.

"Oh, leave that, dear," Dippet waved his hand at her trunk and Crookshanks' basket, "the house-elves will take care of it."

Hermione dug her fingernails into her palms to keep her from saying anything rash and smiled, a little painfully. Somehow, she couldn't see Dippet showing interest in joining S.P.E.W. She followed Dippet downstairs.

* * *

**Great Hall September 7th, 1943**

Hermione detachedly wondered if she was going to throw up. Sure, she had stood in front of the entire school before, when being sorted as a first year, but this was another thing entirely.

For starters, she was the only one on display. Also, the Headmaster seemed to be giving a long-winded speech on her behalf. He had just mentioned her "dead" parents. If her story was true, she surely would've been furious at the man's gall. Did he _want_ her to start bawling in the middle of the Great Hall? That would surely make a good impression on her new classmates. As it was, it brought up horrible memories of her mother dying in Diagon Alley by one of her former best friends; and of her father, somewhere in the future, frantically worried about his suddenly missing daughter.

Furthermore, she hadn't been expecting Hogwarts to be this much more populated with students. It made sense in retrospect, that her own time would have fewer children, due to the fear of Voldemort plaguing the adults and stopping them from procreating. Logic did nothing to make it any more enjoyable to have at least 1,000 people staring at you. Not to mention the Professors' stares - particularly a blue-eyed, crooked-nosed Professor's stare - boring into her back.

She caught Igneus Malfoy's gaze at the Ravenclaw table. He winked at her saucily. Heartened, she chanced a look to the Slytherin table. Immediately, her eyes made contact with Audrey Malfoy's, who sneered at her. Two twin boys further down from Audrey gazed at her impassively. They were even more likely to have been clones of Draco Malfoy. She stifled a snigger upon noticing that they did, in fact, resemble rats mated with snow-white ferrets more so than Igneus. Next to the rodent-faces was the inbred ringleader of the gang that had harassed Hagrid. What had Igneus called him? Parkinson? It would make sense that cow's relatives were just as foul as she. Further down were a number of black and auburn-haired Slytherins of varying ages. At least one of them bore a startling resemblance to Sirius. And there, near the end, was her target. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was staring at her calmly, not looking either overtly friendly or hostile

Hermione fought a wave of rising fury. There he sat, looking as innocent as can be, while he had murdered someone.

_So have you,_ the evil voice whispered to her. _And you've killed a lot more than one,_ _Little Miss Self-Righteous. _

_That was different! _She argued with herself._ It was self-defense!_

_Oh? _The cold voice questioned mockingly._ So Carina Zimmerman was trying to kill you with her back turned towards you? _

_If it weren't for Riddle, Carina wouldn't have died in the first place! _She hissed back angrily.

With a start, she realized Dippet was finally nearing the end of his sadistic torture of her, also known as his "welcoming speech."

"…and so, I hope you will make Miss Granger feel welcome here at Hogwarts. She has been sorted, and she will join the Gryffindors."

The table on the far left cheered.

"No!" Igneus Malfoy wailed loudly. A number of people laughed.

"Mr. Malfoy, control yourself," Dippet said, clearly repressing a smile of his own. "Thank you for your patience, and go back to your dinner," he concluded.

He put his hand on Hermione's lower back and shoved her towards the Gryffindors. She stumbled slightly, before re-gaining her balance and walking towards the familiar table full of unfamiliar faces.

A friendly faced girl was waving her towards the empty seat she was sitting next to. Hermione gratefully sank into it. It was startling how much fuller the tables were with students.

"Hullo," the girl said brightly. She had chin length, curly, dark auburn hair styled into a fashionable bob. "Hermione, right? Sixth-year? So are we," she indicated a few of the girls around them. "You'll be rooming with us."

"Pleased to meet you," Hermione replied politely.

"The name's Marlene Smith," the girl chirped. She took a hearty bite of pie. "And this," she waved her loaded fork, "is Marion Hinsley." The severe looking witch across from them nodded in acknowledgement. "That's Evelyn Sanders," another wave of the fork at a shyly smiling blonde, "this nutcase is Alastor Moody." She indicated the boy to her diagonal. "Oh, and this" she waved her fork at Hermione's left, to a pale, sad looking witch, as a piece of her pie flew off her fork and landed on the table, "is Brigitte Laroque. She just transferred this year from Beauxbatons, she doesn't know a lot of English." Hermione smiled at the girl, who looked nearly as lost and uncomfortable as she did.

Hermione did her best not to look shocked at a young, not heavily scarred, peg-legged, and not so Mad-Eye Moody as she smiled in return at her new housemates, and slid a basket of rolls to her plate.

Marlene continued to point out and name a flood of other strangers, splattering innocent bystanders with pie in her enthusiasm. Hermione's nod became mechanical. It was going to be a long night.


	11. Return of the Potions Professor

**Author Notes:** **A/N: I don't own Harry Potter, blah blah blah, I'm sure you're as sick of reading this as I am of writing it.**

**Thanks to my luscious beta, Normio.**

**Much love for my reviewers; Avery-Rose-Rain-Slytherin, red-e-2party, kitty28, Miko, reeferxmadness, fly, Cinammon, Staker911, and The Cardboard Moon.**

**See, the thing is, I write in a chronological flow the majority of the time. Sometimes, however, I get tripped up in a nasty writer's block somewhere in the middle, and I have to skip that part and go on. That's why updates take awhile sometimes. Basically, if a chapter is short, I wrote in one or two sittings. If it's long, it's because it was being a little bitch, and took me awhile to struggle through it. So I'm sorry about the short chapters lately, but the updates will be quicker that way.**

**Points to anyone who can guess Marion's true identity, not that it's really that important. **

**Horrifyingly enough, Professor Bowers is based on my old English teacher, although "Bowers" isn't her real name. Yes, she really did refer to us as her "beautiful gifted ones." Yes, she really made cheerful, disparaging remarks/threats about those who supposedly had higher authority than her. The Deans were terrified of her. And yes, she actually had a black beehive. We could never decide if she was a vampire, witch, alien, or just Satan's spawn.**

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**Chapter 10: Return of the Potions Professor**

**Tuesday, September 8th, 1943**

Scratch that, it was going to be a long _week_ Her new timetable had arrived by owl post this morning at breakfast, and she had barely stifled a grimace at her first class, Advanced History of Magic. The most exciting thing by far had been when a fully alive Binns walked through the door. She could tell he was still alive (barely) by the fact that she wasn't able to see the wall through him as usual.

While back (or was it forwards?) in her time, Lupin had mandated that the Sixth and Seventh years should continue taking a full schedule of classes, to help equip them with as much knowledge as possible for the war. Here, Hermione was continuing her full schedule out of a long career based on overachievement. Although the talkative Marlene had informed her only DADA was mandatory for sixth-years, taking as many classes was strongly encouraged back in 1943 Hogwarts as well. After all, she had jumped from one war zone to another.

Hermione's sense of apprehension began to build as she walked with the chatty Gryffindor girls through the corridor. Double Potions next, and with the Slytherins, as Marlene had told her. "Bunch of evil prats," as she had put it, before Evelyn had softly cut in, and stated that Tom wasn't so bad. At which point the other girls had begun teasing her mercilessly.

Hermione's stomach rolled at the very thought of the bastard. She cursed Dippet for what felt like the thousandth time. Blast that senile old hack! It was just her luck that he was some sort of Divination groupie. It made her job so much harder to get close to Riddle if she was in Gryffindor.

Marlene opened the door to the classroom, (a different dungeon room than Snape used,) and the girls walked through, followed by a few Gryffindor boys. The class was already about half full with chattering Slytherins and Gryffindors, who were, strangely enough, mixed together rather evenly.

In the future, Hermione's potion's class was always strictly segregated by choice, by house. Yet another new occurrence for her to get used to. Marlene and Marion sat down together at a table, joined by the quiet Brigitte. Evelyn and Hermione sat down behind them, just as the door swung open, emitting the Professor. The class immediately fell silent as the Potion's instructor strode in. Hermione eyed her new teacher with interest.

A witch of about sixty, a little on the tall side, striding in with tall, spiky heels that ominously clacked loudly on the stone floor greeted her gaze. She had midnight black hair, styled in a small, faux beehive, and a shockingly white complexion. Here eyes were smudged with black eyeliner, her rosy pink lips matching her immaculate fingernails perfectly.

Her very presence commanded silence among the large class of forty or so. The Professor stopped behind her desk, rested her fingernail tips upon it, tilted her head, and smiled sweetly.

"Good morning, class," she trilled. Hermione was reminded horribly of Umbridge.

"Good morning, Professor Bowers," the class chanted back to her, surprisingly enthusiastically.

"Today, we will be working on an adrenalin-enhancing drought, known as the Elixir of Energy."

The class looked at each other, excited. Hermione was shocked; this was above N.E.W.T. level, certainly. Unknowingly, she eagerly leaned forward in her seat.

Professor Bowers gestured to the blackboard with her wand, which filled with tiny, cursive writing that was virtually incomprehensible. Hermione squinted. _Surely, she wasn't expected to actually be able to **read** this chicken scratch?_

Apparently she was. The rest of the class had already started pulling out parchment and quills, jotting down the minute gibberish with seemingly no trouble.

"Now," the Professor continued, in her pleasant voice, "the Ministry, and your Headmaster, are not pleased with you learning such a complicated potion at your age." Hermione did a double-take, the rest of her classmates, with the possible exception of Brigitte, seemed entirely unfazed by this news. "The senile, good-for-nothing dung brains," Professor Bowers continued sweetly. "Fortunately your Headmaster remains far too afraid of me to interfere in the slightest."

The class laughed. Hermione dropped her quill in shock.

"Therefore, all I ask is for you to be careful, which I know you, my beautiful gifted ones, will be."

Marlene turned around, grinning, at Hermione's flabbergasted expression. "Isn't she amazing?" she gushed in a whisper.

"Miss Smith," the Professor said, sounding much less pleased, "do not speak while I am speaking." She cast a stern look at Marlene, before her gaze wandered to Hermione.

"Oh, a new student!" she trilled. The class turned in tandem to stare at Hermione, who felt herself go red. "You must be Miss Granger!"

Hermione nodded.

"Excellent! I suppose you would need a little help to catch up, I run a very advanced class compared to other professors."

Hermione resisted the urge to show offense to this slight on her abilities. She hadn't proven herself yet, she reprimanded internally. It wasn't the Professor's fault for misjudging her; any other average student would be horrified by the Elixir of Energy, had they not known it was coming, like the rest of the class obviously did. Plus, it did help her, in a way. Hermione had been considering many tactics for gaining Riddle's attention. For one, she was seriously debating whether or not to appear to need tutoring help, thereby guaranteeing her one-on-one access to the boy in question. Harry had vetoed this idea, saying she would obviously be able to keep this up for about a day, at best, before exploding from the urge to prove herself. They had eventually agreed to _Harry_ being the one to ask Riddle for tutoring help, although Hermione had done so with a sinking heart at her lie. Disturbingly, lying convincingly was becoming easier for her all the time.

"Mr. Riddle," Professor Bowers said, turning to the pale, dark- haired boy in the front row, "Would you be so good to join Miss Granger and Miss Sanders at their table?"

Oh _no_, Hermione thought in horror. She knew she was supposed to be grateful for her Professor's meddling in setting her up with Riddle, but she wasn't ready yet! Not yet settled enough, not comfortable enough in her false persona to fool someone as adept at reading others as he was.

"Of course, Professor," Riddle said smoothly, standing up, gathering his materials, and moving over to the two Gryffindor girls.

Hermione unconsciously slunk lower in her chair as Riddle took a seat next to her on her left. Evelyn, on her right, did her best not to turn the color of a ripe watermelon. Marlene unsuccessfully stifled a snicker.

"Mr. Riddle is the best potions student in the school," the Professor said happily to Hermione. "Anything you need to ask, don't hesitate. He is quite the young gentlemen."

She resisted the urge to gag. Riddle had his eyes cast modestly downward, a very faint pink tinge of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. Oh, he was _good._

The rest of the class rolled their eyes, but the vast majority of them were also grinning at Riddle, clearly a favorite among his peers. Even Marlene, and the other Gryffindor girls who had been teasing Evelyn, looked fondly at Riddle. Hermione's urge to retch intensified when she saw how many girls had looks of longing in their eyes as they gazed at the handsome prefect, which they hid with varying degrees of success.

"The instructions and the theory behind the elixir are on the board. Work in groups of two or three. Ingredients are where they always are; begin," said Professor Bowers.

Half the class got to their feet, making their way to the storage cupboard. Riddle turned to her.

"I'll take the notes down, and you can copy from me," he said to Hermione, "I know Professor Bowers' notes take some getting used to," he said with a small smile. Hermione clenched her hands together in her lap, fighting the urge to claw his eyeballs out, and returned a small smile of her own. Her jaw literally ached with the effort of making it believable.

"Evelyn, if you don't mind, perhaps you could show Miss Granger where the supplies are kept?" he asked pleasantly.

Evelyn nodded, her face a burning red, and stood up, gesturing to Hermione. The two stood in the back of the queue for supplies.

"So," Hermione said, making conversation, "do you fancy him?"

Evelyn made a small choking noise, shaking her head furiously.

The boy in front of them turned around, grinning.

"Of course she does," he said amiably. "Every girl here under sixty fancies him. And maybe even the over sixty crowd does as well. And I've heard quite a few of the boys, as well."

"I won't be having that problem," Hermione said smoothly, crossing her arms in front of her.

"That's what you say _now_," the boy said teasingly, raising his eyebrows, "you'll be singing a different tune in no time. I really don't know how he does it."

"I don't either," said Hermione, "I certainly can't see why the girls would fall all over him," she finished, a bit untruthfully. Oh sure, it was clear why **_she_** wouldn't fancy Riddle, but she honestly couldn't blame the rest of the female population of Hogwarts. After all, he was darkly handsome, smart, polite, and, apparently, humble and helpful. It was enough to make her _sick._

"_I _certainly don't," a haughty voice cut in. An auburn haired, grey eyed girl who was rather pretty sneered from ahead of them. "I think the half-blood is quite the stain on our house's honor."

"Oh, shove it, Black," the boy rolled his eyes. "Nobody asked you."

"Well, if you speak with all the volume of a dying goat, one cannot help but hear your bleating," she sniffed, turning back around.

The boy rolled his eyes in commiseration at Hermione.

"Wyatt Corsington," the boy said to her, holding out his hand. He sported the familiar gold and red.

"Hermione Granger," she said, with a smile, shaking the proffered hand.

"That's Estelle Black," he said, lowering his voice, jerking his head in the direction of the auburn-haired girl. "She's a right pus-filled boil, that one."

Hermione snickered, while Evelyn looked scandalized.

"Couldn't agree more," a male voice boomed behind them. Alastor Moody stood there, fully whole and un-scarred. He had a long, thin nose, dark blonde hair, and dark eyes. He also had a look of deep, paranoid dislike on his face. "Wouldn't want to get on that one's bad side," he added.

Evelyn looked horrified at the mere thought of getting on Estelle Black's bad side.

Hermione was less than impressed. Somehow, a snotty, uptight Slytherin was just not the threat it used to be. Not when she was capable of the Unforgivables. And, it wasn't like the girl didn't have a _point_ about Riddle. He was undoubtedly a stain on Slytherin's honor.

The group of Gryffindors reached the front of the line, and she and Evelyn carried their supplies back to their table. Riddle was already done with his notes, and was neatly arranging his caldron and tools. Evelyn dumped her burden onto the table, leaving no room for Hermione, who hesitated, her arms overflowing with eye of squid and hefflehumper's toenails. Riddle looked at her and briefly smiled.

"You can put your things here, Miss Granger," he indicated, clearing a space with his wand.

"Hermione," she automatically corrected. 'Miss Granger' made her sound like someone's maiden aunt.

"Hermione," Riddle repeated. "Very unusual. I take it your parents were fans of Shakespeare?"

Against her will, she smiled. Few people ever picked up on the connection.

"Yes," she said. "I just thank my lucky stars I wasn't called Hippolyta or Goneril."

Riddle laughed, showing his white teeth. "Or Mopsa," he replied, wrinkling his nose. Hermione screwed up her face in horror. Mopsa Granger. Malfoy would've had a field day with that one.

Seeing Evelyn's bewildered look, Riddle explained, "It's a Muggle thing," before winking at Hermione.

She smiled again, forgetting for a moment that Riddle was anything other than someone who finally knew as much as she did, who could appreciate the value of studying and the lure of a good book. Then good sense returned to her, and her smile dropped off her face abruptly. She turned to their cauldron.

"So, what is the first step?" she asked, her voice coming out harsher than she intended. Riddle's eyes flashed a hint of confusion before he answered her question.

It was REALLY going to be a long week.

* * *

**Wednesday**

Hermione squirmed in her chair for what felt like the millionth time in an hour. Transfiguration was quickly, horribly, becoming her least favorite class, and that was including History of Magic. It was a shame; she was used to loving the challenging course. She loved hands on magic, and the actual transformation of things was absolutely riveting to her.

But Professor Dumbledore seemed to hate her. Well, to be fair, maybe he didn't _hate_ her, but he certainly didn't trust her as far as he could throw Hagrid. His piercing, blue eyes seemed to be attempting to legilimens every dirty secret she could possibly admit to; from stealing extra cookies from the kitchen (after failing to eat her vegetables at supper) behind her parent's backs, to sleeping with Zabini, to sneaking back to the past, to killing Rabastan Lestrange. She avoided his eye contact while studiously copying down every little thing he said.

It was unnerving, to say the least, to have Dumbledore dislike her. She had known intellectually that Dumbledore wouldn't recognize her, that he was NOT as all knowing as he had always seemed, and her joy at seeing him alive again would surely not be reciprocated. It was another thing entirely to see one of her favorite Professor's look at her with such well hidden suspicion. She had foolishly assumed that she would enjoy the same type of relationship with Dumbledore, maybe not quite as close as before, after he got to know her a bit. That fantasy was rapidly slipping through her grasp, like smoke through a sieve.

Suddenly, sickeningly, she understood a bit what it felt like to be Tom Riddle.

* * *

**Slytherin Dungeons: 7:03 A.M. **

**Sunday, November 8th, 1996**

Professor Severus Snape, infamous Potions Master, towering, sneering head of Slytherin house, stormed into the Sixth Year Boys' room in a flaming inferno of rage. (So, in other words, slightly angrier than one would usually find him to be.)

"Where is she?" He demanded, without so much as a 'How d'you do?' or 'Good morning.'

Blaise moaned in pain. His head was throbbing from last night's binge of Ogden's Old Fashioned Fire whiskey. In the canopied green bed next to him, Chris Jones raised his head from a pile of twisted sheets with a "Whuh?"

Crabbe continued snoring peacefully as Snape strode over briskly to the windows and maliciously snapped the curtains open. Charmed sunlight blinded the boys and their respective throbbing hangovers.

Kyle Stebbins gave a groan of agony from across the room. Funny, Blaise thought, he didn't recall them letting Stebbins drink. He was only a third year, for Merlin's sake. A fuzzy recollection of the seventh round of last night's Wizard's truth or dare floated to the surface of his pounding brain. Oh, _no_. Byron had dared Kyle to drink two shots _in a row_!

"Well?" Snape bit out, impatiently.

"Gnugh," Byron said from the other side of Blaise.

"Zabini!" Snape barked, causing shooting, stabbing pains to ricochet around Blaise's skull. "I know that little tart is in here!" He marched over to Blaise's bed, yanking off his bedspread and sheets, and exposing him in all his boxer-ed glory.

"Gah!" Blaise squeaked, vainly trying to snatch his covers back. Waking up to find his greasy Professor hanging over him, while he was barely dressed, was high on his list of traumatizing life experiences.

"Professor Snape?" Chris yawned, sitting up, his hands clutching his head. "What are you doing in here?"

Snape's attention slowly swung round to the other boys in the room, the mound of food remains on the floor, and the almost empty bottle of firewhiskey next to their beds. "I see," he said, in his quietest, most deadly voice. "I see. You boys have exactly thirty seconds to produce Miss Granger before I give all of you detention for the rest of the year! Detention with_ Filch. _Scrubbing the floors with_ toothbrushes_."

"What?" Byron squawked from his bed. "Professor, you can't be serious! "

"Silence, Mr. Smith!" Snape roared. "Be thankful I am not threatening you with detention with Hagrid and his blast-ended skrewts!"

The Slytherin boys collectively shuddered.

"Professor," Blaise ventured, "Hermione isn't in here. I don't know why you'd think—"

"Don't play dumb with me, Mr. Zabini! I know perfectly well she has been in here previously! Doing all sorts of things against school rules! Not that that has ever stopped her befo—"

Snape was interrupted by the arrival of Harry Potter, who burst breathless into the room, hair sticking up more wildly than usual, glasses askew, shirt on backwards.

"Blaise!" he said, panicked. "Hermione's missing!"

Blaise had only a moment to register the fact that Potter had just used his first name for the first time, before what he had said sunk in.

_What had she done?_

_

* * *

_

**Dark Lord's Hideout**

_Thwack._

_Thwack._

_Thwack. Thwack. Thwack._

"Oh, for **Salazar's sake**, Rodolphus, would you _give it a rest _with the darts? You're driving me mad," snapped Bellatrix.

Rodolphus paused, his hand aiming the dart in mid-air at the winking, smiling poster of Harry Potter. _Driving her mad? No, darling, I think you're already there_, he thought sarcastically. He wisely kept this thought to himself, and lowered the dart.

"Do you have any better ideas, Bella?" he drawled. "I would be happy for something to do."

Bellatrix licked her thin lips, her eyes gleaming. Her pale hand trailed down her velvet robes invitingly. Rodolphus's eyes took on a predatory sheen, his feet taking him closer to his wife.

"If you two even _think_ about shagging in the middle of this room I will hex both of your faces off," Narcissa Malfoy snapped.

_Oh, bugger,_ Rodolphus thought. _Forgot about her._

"Too bad Lucius isn't around, dear sister," smirked Bellatrix, "I know we could have taught him a thing or two."

Narcissa gave a snarl of fury, her hand plunging in her robes for her wand, and leapt to her feet. Bella's wand was already out and trained on the blonde, willowy woman.

Rodolphus prudently stayed silent.

A high, amused chuckle rang through the room. Narcissa and Bellatrix, both glaring and breathing heavily, looked around, lowering their wands reluctantly.

Lord Voldemort strolled into the room, clapping slowly, mockingly.

"Bella. Narcissa," he said, with a hint of a smile. "Now is not the time for petty squabbling. I have excellent news."

Bellatrix straightened in excitement, throwing back her hair.

"Really, my Lord?" she said eagerly. "Do tell."

Narcissa mimicked her behind her back, screwing up her face in a faux- fawning look of adoration.

"Yes," Voldemort said, quirking his hairless brow at Narcissa. "I have found our spy amidst our ranks, and have placed a magical bug on him."

"A what, my Lord?" Bella asked excitedly.

"A twist on a Muggle invention, Bella, my dear. It allows me to see what he sees, to hear what he hears. I have learned much."

Bellatrix was practically quivering in suppressed joy. Rodolphus held his breath.

"We attack Hogwarts at daybreak," Lord Voldemort said simply.

* * *

**Feel free to check out my new fic, "Mudbloods of the Death Eaters."**

**Please review. I see all of you who have me on your favorites list, or your author alerts list, who have NEVER REVIEWED. You guys are killing me. I am weeping tears of blood. BLOOD, PEOPLE. **


	12. Tom's Tarts

**A/N: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, Ginny would die a painful death. **

**If you are interested in updates on my progress for this story, visit my author profile page and then click on homepage. I clearly label my HP updates on my livejournal, so you can skip my ranting posts. ;o)**

**Thanks to my reviewers, I'll thank you extendedly next chapter update, which should be soon. **

**Chapter Eleven: Tom's Tarts**

**Friday, September 11th, 1943**

There were far too many girls in her dorm, Hermione thought as she irritably spread jam on her toast. Far, _far_, too many giggling, chattering girls who apparently were unaware **_that_****_there was a war going on_** judging by their vapid conversations. She hadn't even known that the dormitories could become so large; _Hogwarts, a History_ had never mentioned the magically expanding rooms. There had to be at least twenty girls in her year alone in Gryffindor Tower. It made for an extremely crowded common room at night, that was for sure.

Last night she had escaped the vast herd along with Marion Hinsley, by going to her refuge, the library. The other girls had groaned, proclaiming that there were now_ two_ of them, and had proceeded to tease them mercilessly.

"At least _someone_ takes their academics seriously around here," Marion had sniffed, effectively ending the conversation.

There was something about the statuesque brunette, something in the stern lines of her face, that reminded Hermione of someone, and it was driving her batty that she could not figure out whom. No matter, it would come to her.

She didn't particularly like Marion; although she couldn't tell exactly what it was about her cold, no-nonsense manner that was off-putting. Perhaps it was because of the unnamed person she reminded Hermione of, or perhaps it was the unnaturalness of such reserved behavior in one so young. Either way, Marion set her on edge. And the feeling of unease was more than reciprocated, which Hermione had learned last night, most to her displeasure.

"You're staring," Marion informed Hermione in a low tone.

"What?" Hermione looked up from her Transfiguration textbook.

"You keep staring at Tom Riddle," Marion said, her eyebrow raised.

Against her will, Hermione's gaze rested on the boy in question, the only other person in the library, who was sitting alone at a table fifty feet away, surrounded by stacks of books, scribbling notes furiously.

"I am not," Hermione snapped, annoyed.

"Oh, you're good at hiding it, I'll give you that, but you keep sneaking looks at him when you think I'm not paying attention. I wouldn't have thought you were one of Tom's Tarts."

"Tom's Tarts?" Hermione echoed incredulously. (It had undoubtedly been capitalized.)

"It's what we call his little groupies," Marion said contemptuously. "They follow him around, sometimes, and they giggle and blush if he even so much as looks their way. The bolder one's flirt with him, of course, but Tom is completely oblivious to it," Marion was gazing at Riddle in contemplation. "They even have a club, although they think the rest of us don't know about it," her gaze switched back to Hermione. "Thinking about joining?"

"Of course not," Hermione said coolly, having regained her composure. "But you seem to know a lot about it. Perhaps you should consider becoming a member. That is, if you aren't one already."

Marion hadn't so much as blinked at the insult.

"There's something about you," she said consideringly, eyeing Hermione, "something wrong. You might have managed to fool everybody else, but not me. And I'll find out what it is."

* * *

Hermione glowered at her toast, before crunching a massive bite out of it. After she had sniped back at Marion, the two of them had worked in an icy silence for the rest of the night. She was infuriated that her sanctuary, the library, had been infringed upon like that. Well, she wouldn't let that stuck-up ice-princess drive her away! Just let her try. Hermione could blow her to pieces if she wanted to.

She picked up her goblet of orange juice and took a swig as a pretense, instead glaring at Marion out of the corner of her eye. She was sitting farther down the table, next to Moody and Marlene. It was too bad the only group that had been very friendly with her thus far included Marion as a key member. Now the friends she had been on the verge of making were all gone. Presumably, Marion had already poisoned them all against her. She had been sorely tempted to sit over at Ravenclaw next to Igneus Malfoy this morning, when he had waved at her. Instead, she had sat next to Wyatt Corsington, the boisterous Gryffindor from Potions.

"I can't imagine what that poor toast did to deserve that look," Wyatt said teasingly, breaking into her thoughts.

Hermione was saved from replying when the morning owl post arrived, swooping and hooting to their respective targets. She didn't even glance up; no one would be sending her post, so why bother?

"Hello, what's this?" Wyatt said, surprised as murmurs of noise started rising in pockets at the tables.

Hermione craned her neck, observing that the kerfluffle was coming from the groups whom had at least one member clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. An owl flew in, dropping a copy of the newspaper at the boy to her diagonal, a Seventh year boy with messy hair who had introduced himself as Richard Potter.

"Oi! Potter! What is it?" Wyatt questioned, as Richard turned a ghastly white.

He didn't answer, his gaze transfixed on the front page, his mouth open in horror.

A loud commotion broke out at the Hufflepuff table and a girl clutching a copy of the Prophet, sobbing, ran out of the hall, her friends hot on her heels.

"Potter? Helloooo?" Wyatt snapped impatiently. When not receiving a reply, he snatched the paper right out of Richard Potter's slackening grasp.

Hermione leaned over Wyatt's shoulder, as he smoothed out the front page.

**MISSING FAMILIES FOUND DEAD**

**DARK LORD GRINDELWALD SUSPECTED**

**Last night, hearing a disturbance on her front porch, Ms. Glynn Thompson of Number 8, Clavert Lane, went out to investigate. There, she made a gruesome discovery; the dead and mutilated bodies of three missing wizard families. The Hectors: William, 40, Elvira, 39, and their two children Smythwick, 8, and Rosengard, 10; The Lowells: Mary, 82, and Reginald, 81; and The Ferrars: Beverly, 65, her son and daughter-in-law Jim, 43, and Constance, 43, and their children Winifred, 3, Lester, 6, and Sarah, 10. The Hectors and Ferrars both have children who are safely attending Hogwarts at this time. "At first, I thought it was just Mr. Fluffernutter, knocking over his cream bowl," Ms. Thompson stated, "but then I heard a lot of thumps that one little cat can't make by its lonesome."**

**The families had been missing since**

Hermione looked away in horror from the article. She just couldn't get away from it, could she?

She looked over at the Slytherin table, at Riddle. He was reading the Daily Prophet as well, his dark eyebrows furrowed, his mouth drooping in a frown.

Hermione glowered, gripping her fork tightly. _The nerve of him, to look sad. Hypocrite! He should just stand up on the table and do a little dance, like he really wants to do, the lying sack of--_

Almost as if Riddle could feel her heated gaze, he looked up at Hermione. Immediately, she dropped her eyes to her breakfast, only partially listening to the murmurs of conversation around her.

* * *

**Second Floor Corridor**

Hermione wandered aimlessly around the second floor corridor, pretending to be lost, as she gazed at her schedule. Ancient Runes was next, and it would look incredibly suspicious if she knew where everything was her first week at a new school. The rest of her Gryffindor 6th year mates were still at lunch, (the ones she recognized out of the herd, anyway) and she wasn't sure if any of them took Ancient Runes in the first place. It had never been a popular choice of electives, and if her previous experience with the course was any indication, all four houses would be stuck in one class together. This meant a chance for Riddle to have Ancient Runes with her. She had not had a glimpse of Riddle since Tuesday, apart from at mealtimes.

A curious battle was taking place in the pit of her stomach; the Red Army was advancing, flags waving, teeth bared and weapons aimed, ready to take down Riddle. The Red Army was desperately praying for Riddle to be in the class; their motto was "know thy enemy." The Yellow Army, who was currently huddled in a muddy, dug-out pit, hiding from the crazed Red Army, was fervently hoping for Riddle to be somewhere, _anywhere_ elsewhere. Their motto was "don't get killed trying to tangle with the Dark Lord, moron!" Hermione told both armies to shove it, and do something useful, for a change.

Just as she was in the middle of arguing with herself and her metaphorical contradictory feelings, she smashed into a squishy body, and went down, hard.

"Oof," she moaned awkwardly from the stone floor, her skirt riding up alarmingly.

"Oh! Oh my!" a feminine voice said above her. A tiny redhead was standing over Hermione, a delicate hand clasped over her mouth in horror. Riddle was standing next to the redhead, looking concerned.

_Oh, of course,_ Hermione thought nastily. _Typical._

"Are you all right, miss?" the red-headed munchkin gasped. "I can't believe how clumsy I can be," she babbled, bending down to gather up Hermione's scattered pile of books.

Tom Riddle held out his hand to Hermione.

Hermione hesitated only the briefest of seconds before clasping the pale, long fingers, and standing to her feet none too smoothly, tugging on the hem of her skirt.

Riddle held on to her hand for a few moments longer before letting go. Oddly, it wasn't slimy, cold, or covered in scales. She was withholding judgment on whether it was poisonous.

"Thanks," Hermione said to the two Slytherins. "It really wasn't your fault, I wasn't watching where I was going," she added to the girl.

"A kindred spirit, Belinda," Riddle said, his eyes dancing, a smile playing around the edge of his mouth.

"Oh, hush, you," Belinda huffed, and slapped Riddle on the shoulder. She handed Hermione her books. "Tom always says I am the biggest day dreamer," she said to Hermione confidingly, "but he's worse than anyone I have ever met! You can barely get his head out of a book."

"Guilty as charged," Riddle said, slightly smiling. "Belinda, I don't believe you've met Miss Granger, have you? This is Hermione Granger," he nodded at her, "and Hermione, this is Belinda Harper."

The girls shook hands, exchanging the typical "nice to meet yous," and "oh no, the pleasure is all mine."

"Tom!" A voice jovially boomed from behind Hermione. She spun around in alarm, and encountered the grinning, pointy face of Igneus Malfoy. "You scoundrel, you! First you break my heart by stealing the lovely Belinda from me, and now, NOW, when I have finally licked my wounds, gathered my courage, and found the light of my life, you take her as well! For shame!" he said, shaking his head in disgust.

Igneus grasped Hermione's hand, and held it to his breast, as he kneeled at her feet. "And you, the lovely Miss Hermione, I had hoped you would see my charm, and not succumb to the tempting wiles of Mr. Riddle, like every girl before you. But, no! You have crushed my delicate heart underneath your cruel, unfeeling feet. Did you hear it crunch?" Igneus demanded of Belinda and Tom, the former who was shaking with suppressed laughter. "I do believe I heard a crunch! Like the breaking of a piece of toffee into two pieces! Like—"

"Alright, Igneus, alright," Tom broke in, half-amused, half- exasperated. "I certainly have not stolen the heart of Miss Granger, nor have I stolen Belinda's heart. There is no need for such theatrics."

"Do you hear him?" Igneus moaned, leaping to his feet. "Do you hear the fiend? Making light of our love, my darling! Tainting it with his sarcasm, with his ill-disguised pity!"

"My love for you remains the same, Igneus," Hermione responded, "non-existent, and completely terrified."

Tom laughed, loud and hard, and with a look of surprise at his own laughter. Belinda was giggling helplessly, turning a reddish purple.

Igneus drew back from her in melodramatic horror. "Tom, I think you have met your match!" he gasped, his eyebrows raised, "the girl is unmovable! She is stubborn, and pig-headed, and all things Gryffindor!"

"Perhaps I have," Tom said, his eyebrow cocked at an angle, his expression unreadable.

Before anyone could respond the bell rang for the first class of the day.

"Oh, there's the bell, and I don't know where the Ancient Runes classroom is!" Hermione said, only half putting on her distress. Riddle was thoroughly unnerving her. He could have at least had the decency to cackle evilly or something, for goodness sake.

"That's where we're going, Hermione," Belinda said, "we'll show you the way."

"I suppose I will go back to my room, draw my curtains, and lay in a ball of misery at this cruel, vicious rejection," Igneus uttered sadly. With that, and a ridiculous puppy dog face he shot at Hermione, he marched in the opposite direction, as the three sixth years stared at his back.

"Is he ever… serious?" Hermione asked.

"No," Belinda and Tom chorused.

"Well….," Belinda said thoughtfully, as they began walking to class, "he doesn't like bullies. If he sees bullying, he can get scary."

"That's true," Tom nodded, as they passed a chattering group of second years and the Fat Friar.

"And he's really rather serious about his studies, underneath it all," Belinda added, as the trio ducked a cackling Peeves, and continued up a spiraling staircase. "Ah, here we are," she added cheerfully.

The three of them entered the room, which had only five or so students in it at the time, and a much younger Professor Efferguard sitting behind her desk.

Riddle and Belinda strode straight to the front middle table and sat down together. Hermione hesitated, uncertain. Marion Hinsley was pointedly ignoring her from the left of the classroom and she didn't recognize anyone else in there. She was about to sit at an empty table, when Belinda turned around, perplexed.

"Hermione, over here!" she called, waving her over.

Hermione gratefully sank into the seat next to Belinda, placing her heavy book bag on the floor.

Six or so more people entered the room, including one of the Malfoy twins, before the bell rang. Professor Efferguard was beginning to stand up when the door banged open, emitting a flustered girl, with long, stringy blonde hair, who sped into the classroom and heavily sat next to Hermione.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," she said breathlessly.

"Quite alright, Miss Meadows," Professor Efferguard said cheerfully. "It is, after all, the first week. Just try not to make it a habit."

As the Professor began her lecture, Hermione's mind uncharacteristically wandered. _Meadows? Dorcas Meadows? Why was that name familiar? Something to do with… _Hermione frowned in thought. _That was it! The Order, Dorcas Meadows had been in the Order. And Voldemort had killed her personally, Harry had told her._ She shuddered. Sitting at the table with a dead-girl-walking and the person who murdered her, while being taught by a Professor whose death she had witnessed in Diagon Alley with her own eyes! It was enough to give anyone the willies.

Hermione rubbed the goosebumps on her bare legs, and Belinda gave her an odd look.

"Cold?" she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

Hermione nodded.

When Efferguard turned around to write a sequence of runes on the board, Belinda nudged Riddle and muttered something to him. Both of them looked at Hermione, and Riddle nodded, and took off his robe. Hermione, who had been paying attention to Efferguard, gave a start when Belinda tapped her on the arm.

"Here," she whispered, handing her a robe.

Hermione looked at the girl in surprise and did a double take when she realized just who had given her their clothing. Hastily, she attempted to shove the offending garment back at Riddle, while the two Slytherins shook their heads and shoved back in her direction. Professor Efferguard turned around and Hermione was forced to keep the robe. She gingerly placed it on her shivering legs, hoping she didn't look as revolted as she felt. That's it. If Riddle _was _poisonous, she had certainly caught it by now.

"As I started to tell you on Monday," Professor Efferguard said, "I want you all working on a project in groups. Each group of four will be creating a new runic language, alphabet, grammar, and all. Then, you will each receive a copy of the other groups' new runic language and will have to translate a series of clues leading to your final destination. First group to your destination is guaranteed an O on the assignment, 25 house points apiece, and a small prize from myself."

The class looked at each other excitedly. Hermione herself was on the edge of her seat. She had almost forgotten how much she loved Professor Efferguard.

"I will be splitting you into groups, so I will try to make it fairly matched. I want one of each house in each group, if at all possible."

The Professor rummaged through a drawer and picked out a scroll. She unrolled it, clearing her throat.

"Miss Hinsley, Miss Pinesap, Mr. Gordon and Mr. Malfoy are group one. Group two is Miss Higgs, Mr. Clay, Miss Baker and Miss Jonesville."

Assorted mumblings greeted each new name in the groups, as did gleeful smiles and deadly, mutinous looks. The Malfoy twin was sneering spectacularly. _Probably pissy about having to work with the other houses_, Hermione thought. She had her own problems to worry about; a growing, horrible suspicion was building in her gut.

"Alright, settle down," Professor Efferguard said sternly, "there's no use complaining, I won't be changing the groups. Ahem. Group three is Miss Harper, Mr. Edgars and Mr. Hodgepodge. The last group is Mr. Riddle, Miss Meadows and Mr. Miller. Now, Miss Granger," the Professor peered over her spectacles at her, "I wasn't sure which group to place you in, but Mr. Riddle is the best student in Ancient Runes, and I figured he could help you catch up. You will be in group four."

_Typical. Bloody **typical**. Sure Riddle would help her. Right off a **cliff** he would help her._


	13. The Robe Incident

**A/N: I don't own Harry Potter, even if I did legally change my name to the clever Roanne Jowling.**

**Chapter Twelve: The Robe incident **

When Hermione Granger walked up to Tom Riddle at the beginning of lunch in the Great Hall and gave him back his robe, she was sure the rest of the school had a collective heart attack. Well, let them. He had refused to take it back all throughout Ancient Runes, and had disappeared after the class was over. She had had a free period afterwards, so she had spent the last hour or so studying in the library for her new project assignment, and she simply was not going to hang onto the blasted thing any longer.

It comforted her slightly to know that, had she been in her time, and gone up to Malfoy (were he not dead) at the Slytherin table and given him back his robe, it would've caused a bigger sensation than this; but it was still difficult to have the entirety of Hogwarts stare at you as if you had sudden started flinging off clothes until you were left in nothing but your knickers. Hermione dimly registered that this had been a huge mistake, as the blue gaze of Dumbledore dug holes into her back, as Igneus Malfoy snickered in a heartily know-it-all fashion from the Ravenclaw table, as the Malfoys and Blacks at the Slytherin table sneered at her mightily, and as at least half the girls in the hall (along with a few boys, as well,) glared at her with the pure, undiluted hatred of adolescent love thwarted.

Riddle, however, just smiled complacently at her and thanked her for returning his robe. Belinda grinned as well next to him, and Hermione found herself reciprocating in turn. She turned and made her way to the Gryffindor table, willing her face not to burn quite so much. She was about to make her way to an empty seat at the end, when Marlene waved her over eagerly. Reluctantly, Hermione sat down next to her, across from Marion, who was gazing at her impassively.

"Hermione!" Marlene said heartily, as she took a huge bite of mashed potatoes. "Where have you been? Have you been ignoring us?" she demanded.

Of course, Hermione had most assuredly been doing that very thing, but she pretended to be shocked

"Oh, no, Marlene! I've just been studying, is all," she said apologetically.

"You can't expect her not to make new friends," Marion said coolly, taking a drink.

"That's not what I meant!" Marlene said, injured. "You know that's not what I meant, don't you Hermione dear?"

"Of course," Hermione answered simply. Really, she couldn't understand why someone as lively and friendly as Marlene seemed to be best friends with that stick-in-the-mud, Marion.

"So, you and Riddle, huh?" Marlene asked with a wicked grin. "Good show. Though if I were you, I'd watch my back. The girls of this school have been trying to hook Tom for years."

"There's nothing going on," Hermione said firmly, aware of Marion's unwavering gaze. "I was cold in Ancient Runes, and Belinda Harper made him give me his robe," she explained.

"Still," Marion broke in, "I've never seen Riddle give a girl his robe."

Marlene snickered. Hermione hastily attempted to change the subject.

"Where is Evelyn?"

"Oh, she's heartbroken about the Riddle thing, she ran off a moment ago," Marlene said carelessly, waving her hand.

Marion correctly interpreted Hermione's horrified expression.

"She does it all the time; she's always crying about something or other," she said contemptuously.

"That doesn't sound normal," Hermione said, frowning slightly, thinking of Cho. "Haven't you ever asked her why she's so unhappy?"

"She's not unhappy, she's _sensitive_," Moody broke in. "Needs to learn about hiding her feelings."

Hermione shook her head, exasperated at the other's cavalier attitude towards their so-called friends.

"If you say so," she said, unconvinced.

She looked over her class schedule, though she had it memorized, to duck her head to the staring and gossiping still being directed her way all around the Great Hall.

"What d'you have next?" Marlene asked around a mouthful of sprouts.

"Care of Magical Creatures," Hermione replied.

"Oooh, so do I!" Marlene chirped excitedly. "Most of the Gryffies in our year taking Divination, or Muggle Studies. And it seems like all of Slythies take it. You'll be able to even it up a bit!"

Hermione fought the urge to groan.

"The Slytherins are in it?"

"Yep," Marlene perked. She snapped a carrot stick in half in her mouth, and reached for Hermione's class schedule with her free hand eagerly. "Arithmancy, Ancient Runes _and_ Care of Magical Creatures? You'll be seeing the Slythies all day," she said gleefully.

"_What_?" Hermione shrilly asked, causing those nearest her to wince. She was used to Arithmancy being Slytherin free.

"Well, no one really takes it, do they?" Marlene shrugged, looking a bit taken aback by Hermione's evident horror. "Only the brainy types like you and Marion, and your boyfriend Tom."

"He's **_not_** my boyfriend," Hermione gritted out through clenched teeth.

Everyone around her snorted in disbelief, even the usually silent Brigitte.

"Fine, DON'T believe me. If that's the way you want to be about it," Hermione snapped, pushing herself up and away from the table, her heavy book bag swung violently onto her shoulder, almost clipping Moody in the head.

"Oi! Watch it!"

_"Constant vigilance!"_ Hermione spat out, and with that incomprehensible statement, she stormed her way out of the Great Hall, her eyebrows lowered thunderously, ignoring the stares coming from all around.

She didn't _quite_ know why she was so angry. Surely, Harry and Ron – and not to mention Zabini – had said far worse things to her in harmless jest? But there was the crux of her problem. Harry and Ron. Every adventure she had ever been on, save sleeping with Zabini, (perish the thought) they had been at her side, reassuring her with their mere presence.

Harry, who was the born leader, a hero, who they could all count on to keep a level head when they were out of plans and panicking; Ron, the wisecracking sidekick, who for all of his bumbling was nearly as formidable as Harry. Zabini hadn't replaced Ron recently, exactly, no one could ever do that, but he had helped fill a void left in herself in Harry. That was why the trio had always worked best as a unit, their conflicting talents and faults fitting perfectly together as one, super-powerful cohesive unit. Zabini had never quite filled Ron's spot, and he never would, but it had _helped._ It would've helped a _lot_, to have Ron here making offensive jokes at the worst possible time, (_Hermione's a** snake** charmer, heh heh, d'you get it?_) to have Harry brooding, than running off to do his patented "saving people thing;" to have Blaise leering and making innuendoes at her, while all the while secretly sneering at himself.

But she had no one but herself, and _so what_ if she was a little testy? She could always tell the others the death of her parents had left her moody and quick to anger. And if they didn't buy that, what did it matter? She was here to make nice with Riddle, anyway, and **that** was going swimmingly.

Yes, Hermione nodded to herself firmly, that was the way to go about it. Her brisk strides faltered when she glimpsed Evelyn (who was most assuredly not off crying her eyes out somewhere) up ahead in the corridor, talking to a group of students she didn't recognize. Indeed, talking and looking far more animated than she had ever seen her look.

One of the boys spotted Hermione and broke off in mid sentence, nudging Evelyn with his elbow. She turned quickly, focusing on Hermione.

"Oh, Hermione!" she said, surprised. "How are you? Did you want to walk to Care of Magical Creatures with me? I'm assuming you don't know where to go," she detached herself from the group, smiling.

"That'd be lovely," Hermione said, eyeing the others.

Evelyn made no move to introduce them, instead, she linked arms with Hermione and forcefully steered her out the castle doors.

"We always have class outside, unless the weather is very bad," she chattered, as they crossed the grounds. "Oh, hello!" she called, waving to two figures walking around in the distance.

The pair of figures, one stooped skinny, and sporting a long mane of white hair tied in a ponytail, and the other, impossibly huge, waved back.

"That's Ogg, the gamekeeper," Evelyn said in her soft voice, before Hermione could ask, "and that's his assistant, Rubeus Hagrid."

"Isn't he… a bit large?" Hermione asked, playing her part.

"And he's only a fourth year!" Evelyn said, wide-eyed. "Or, he would be, anyway."

"What do you mean? Was he a student?" Hermione asked innocently.

"He was," Evelyn responded as the girls walked closer to the edge of the forest. "Poor dear. In our house, too. A bit… slow, you know, but the sweetest boy you ever could find. He seems though to uh… get into spots of trouble a lot."

That was the understatement of the century, Hermione thought, amused.

"But last year… well, they kept it quiet, they didn't want people panicking, what with Hogwarts being the only safe place and all, with Grindewald around you know—" Evelyn was babbling, as if she were afraid of Hermione's reaction to this news that Hogwarts was not infallible.

"Evelyn," Hermione broke in, "I certainly am not worried about something that happened last year. I'm sure I have seen worse things."

"Right," Evelyn said, sounding distinctly relieved. "Well, I don't really know all the details, only Hagrid, Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster Dippet, and Tom Riddle seem to know, but there was some monster let loose in the castle, going around and petrifying the students with Muggle blood. A girl even ended up dying, it was horrible."

Hermione did her best to act like this was all new to her, and not something she had personally experienced in second year.

Evelyn shuddered, than regained her composure. "Anyway, it turned out Hagrid had some sort of creature he had been raising in the castle, and he got expelled when Tom Riddle turned him in for it."

"What kind of creature?" Hermione asked innocently.

"No one knows for sure, Tom won't talk about it. But he had been covering for Hagrid, he used to tutor him you know, sort of thought of him as a little brother in a way," Evelyn sighed. "Poor Tom. Of course, he realized how foolish he had been to not turn him in when that poor girl ended up dead, and he told Professor Dippet."

_Ooh, yes, poor, innocent Tom,_ Hermione thought sarcastically. _Poor Tom the martyr, being forced into turning in the person he framed for his own manslaughter._

"Why isn't Hagrid in Azkaban?" she asked aloud.

"Well, there's no way he knew what he was really doing, no one believes that," Evelyn said assuredly. "I told you, a bit slow, but a sweet boy. Professor Dumbledore seems convinced he had absolutely nothing to do with the incident at all though."

"I wonder why that is," Hermione mused, genuinely curious. _Had Dumbledore always known it was Riddle? And if so, why he hadn't acted upon it? Why hadn't Dumbledore done something to stop Riddle from becoming the monster he now was, the monster that had ended up killing the benevolent Headmaster himself?_ She felt an irrational anger rising at the Professor.

"Dumbledore is a genius," Evelyn said firmly, "everyone thinks so. I'm sure he has his reasons for believing Hagrid. He'll most likely be Headmaster after Dippet retires."

"I don't think he likes me," Hermione blurted, before she could stop herself.

The other Gryffindor girl gave her an odd look.

"Why would you say that?"

"Oh, no reason," Hermione responded lamely, before she could do any more damage. Thankfully, she saw an approaching group of students, granting her time to dislodge her foot from her mouth.

* * *

Professor Kettleburn, as much as it pained her to admit it, seemed to be a superior teacher to Hagrid. For one thing, he didn't have his successor's penchant for deadly beasts, which was relieving. Still, it made her sad at yet another reminder of things how they were, and things how they should be. Care of Magical Creatures just wasn't the same if she wasn't in the midst of fearing for her life.

As soon as Marlene and Moody had showed up with Brigitte and a few of their fellow Gryffindors (whose names Hermione was unaware of) Evelyn had gravitated over to their crowd, clearly expecting Hermione to follow her. Hermione, however, had other plans, and had purposefully stared off in the other direction until the Slytherins arrived (who outnumbered their gold and red counterparts four to one) and then Kettleburn, who had promptly ushered them across the grounds. Kettleburn had brought them over to a huge tank by the greenhouses, a tank which he insisted held a "special treat." She was now standing a little a part from the rest of the class, as Kettleburn tried to tempt the creature he was harboring by waving cabbage over the tank's surface. Harder was ignoring the whispered murmurs and dark looks coming from the Gryffindors and lasered in her direction.

_My God, were they going to hold one little outburst against her, after they had been so irritating? Well, let them_. Hermione straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, and stood proudly aloof. _Why, all that mattered was Riddle! She had to make friends, possibly lovers,_ (she managed, barely, to repress a shudder) _with the snake_, _and if all else failed, thoroughly botch a memory charm so completely that he ended up as addled as Gilderoy Lockhart. In fact, why hadn't she thought of that before? It was genius! _

Eagerly, Hermione turned to her class notes, and under "special treat" she wrote "Gilderoy Lockhart L.V?" she put the dot under the question mark with a satisfied, firm stroke of her quill.

"Who's Gilderoy Lockhart?" a voice asked from over her shoulder.

She jumped mightily, splattering a thick line of ink. Hermione half turned, dimly registering Kettleburn's cheerful call of "tricky little bugger! Must be shy!" followed by a loud splash that resounded from behind her.

The Malfoy twins, along with Estelle Black and a dark haired, grey eyed girl that looked eerily familiar stood to her rear.

"Sorry?" Hermione asked, partly to buy time, partly out of sheer panic.

The twin who didn't have his arms crossed in front of him rolled his eyes, and shrieks of horror came from the other students near the tank.

(Professor Kettleburn! Are you alright sir?)

(Yes, yes, I'm fine! He just caught my leg, the little rascal! Now, Mr. Moody, do you think you could just…)

"He _said_," sneered the blonde eye roller, drawing out his words as if she were especially dimwitted, "**_Who_** is Gilderoy Lockhart?" he pointed to Hermione's notes.

She clutched the offending parchment protectively to her chest.

"What's it to you?" she snapped waspishly, and a little unwisely. "Why are you reading my notes anyway?"

"Oooh, feisty little Mudblood," arm-crosser drawled.

A ringing silence followed this statement, which was broken by a second, louder splash as Alastor Moody let go of Professor Kettleburn's hand in shock, dropping the poor man back into the tank without warning.

"And you're a rude, inbred little pureblood," Hermione retorted. "Was there a **_point_** to you coming over here? Or were you just fulfilling your racist quota for the day?"

Marlene had a hand clamped over her mouth, and was positively convulsing from her attempt to hold in her laughter. Some of her classmates were not being as discreet, and were guffawing openly; Evelyn looked shocked speechless yet again, and the rest of the Slytherins were a mixture of amused and murderous.

As Professor Kettleburn sputtered in vain for help behind them, the Malfoys glared in synchronized hatred. Apparently, no one had ever stood up to them, judging by their dumbfounded expressions.

"You think you're so clever, Mudblood," the black-haired girl said in a soft, carrying voice, before the twins could retort, "but _I see right through you_." Indeed, her eyes were boring straight into Hermione's, who took it as a direct challenge and refused to look away. "I saw you in Potions Tuesday, and in Ancient Runes this morning. I know your type. You study all the time and you show off in class with all the answers, because you know you'll never be good enough. You know you don't belong here. You know no one would ever pay attention to your bushy head any other way." She took a step closer to Hermione, her eyes flashing with malice, but before she could continue her cutting monologue a familiar voice cut in.

"Yet you seem to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to her, Ethelinda," Tom Riddle said. "So you see, your hypocrisy renders your words with little significance as usual. Please desist and pay attention to the lesson before I'm forced to dock points from my own house."

Professor Kettleburn gave a shriek as he was catapulted head first out of the tank by the creature inside, effectively diffusing the tension.

The Professor, who was already missing half his right arm and three of his left toes (the first losses in a long line of maimed appendages) coughed up a stream of water, as the class crowded around him. This left Hermione alone with Riddle as the rest of the class inquired after their Professor's health.

"Er, thanks," Hermione said uncertainly to the tall, pale prefect.

He shrugged, "It was no problem. You were more than holding your own. Not many can say that when faced with the Slytherin Snob Squad," Riddle said with half a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He studied her a second longer, before joining the herd around the wet Professor.

Hermione had the undeniable feeling she had just been given Riddle's full attention.

Perhaps, Hermione thought with a half-smile of her own, as she heard the Professor's exclamation of "No, no, I'm fine, no need to fuss! The little guy just got a little overexcited!" Kettleburn was more like Hagrid than she had thought.

**A/N:** Much love to **Normio** for her mad beta skillz.

Thanks to my reviewers! Anyone who asked me a specific question or made a comment I couldn't resist replying to is answered below. Much love to all of you: **Staker911, BIGHARRYFAN, fly, Emma Ackroyd, Jess, Zaralya, Blade-Claven, Kou Shun'u, Setsuna Bu, Lady Sunflower, Ptrst, Avery-Rose-Rain-Slytherin, X2 Aeon Darkness 1X, Sailor Moon Rose, w1cked angel, LostDreamer26, renyun, mystripedskirt, lookoh, Kate, Cinammon, thespare617, Alandrea-the-magical-kitty, beeker986, Floriana, white-stellar, Jade Symphony, encantada, sarklover826,** and **Lady Valerius**. Extra snuggles to those who have been with me for a long time, and those who reviewed multiple times.

**Lady Sunflower: **I'm…. a little frightened by how much you seem to know about me. ;o)

**fly:** The chamber of secrets was opened the year before Hermione travels to the past; which is Tom Riddle's fifth year. He and Hermione are in their sixth year.

**w1cked angel:** Hmmm, me as God…. Sadly, no. But thank you!

**Cinammon:** The question is more like what COULDN'T you bribe me with. ;o) But I'll settle for either a million dollars or a naked, chocolate covered Wentworth Miller.

**thespare617:** Marion is quite like McGonagall, but you're right, they are two different people. McGonagall graduated a year or two before.

**Alandrea-the-magical-kitty** I'm so glad my shameless weeping tears of blood line got you to review. Thanks! ;o)

**sarklover826:** Yes, I loathe Ginny with the power of a thousand fiery suns. I'm sorry I killed off Draco…. wait, no, I'm not! Mwah haha.

**encantada**: Hola, mis amiga! Como se llama? And that is the extent of two years of high school Spanish that I remember. Of course I don't mind if you use my quotes! I'm very flattered. (I'm partial to the "electric hips" line myself.)


	14. Interlude

**Author Notes**: I'm very sorry this took so long for me to write. I'm also quite sure many of you will hate this chapter and be disappointed, but maybe I'm wrong. You can expect the next chapter much sooner, even if I am flabbergasted on how to proceed.Thanks to all my reviewers. Thanks to the new ones who just found the story, and the reviewers who have stuck with me for eons. Since my last update this site has implemented a new reviewer feedback system, so I'll be responding to all my reviews that way. If you are reviewing my story anonymously and would like me to respond directly to you as well, leave me your email address in your comment.

There are characters in this chapter that have not been heard of for awhile. If you forget who they are, I suggest skimming chapters 4-6. ;o)

Again, if you want to know the status of EAP and its progress, you can check out my livejournal, the link of which is located on my author info page. Feel free to ignore my ramblings that are non story related. Also, I set up a forum here at fanfiction for my stories, and one topic is about EAP; If you want to ask me questions, bug me about updating, etc., and I also have a topic that lists the characters and their status. (Dead, evil, good, etc.) I did this cause a number of you were (justifiably) confused about who was who. Especially since I update once a millenia.

In regards to Tom Riddle: I feel so stupid cause a number of you have commented on how incredibly OOC my Tom is, and I was thinking to myself, haven't I explained that? God! Then I went back and reread all my author notes and whoops, no, I never have! Heh. heh. heh? Sorry! Anyway, yes, Tom is ridiculously OOC so far. That's because he is acting. This is not who Tom really is. Never fear, evil Tom will rear his ugly (well, actually, HOT) head soon.

Since I am nothing if not a self-pimper, I would nicely like to say that I have written three new fics recently that you can find here at my author page. _hint hint_ ;o)

Last, love for **Normio** and her beta magic.

**Chapter Thirteen: Interlude**

**Dark Lord's Hideout**

**Sunday, November 8th, 1996**

It was times like these that Rodolphus loathed the fact that he was the only high-ranking Death Eater who wasn't off his collective nut. _Including his master_, a traitorous voice whispered, before it was ruthlessly quashed by the large part of Rodolphus that wasn't looking forward to a few rounds of Cruciatus for his impudence. This meant it was up to him to say--

"My Lord, perhaps," he quailed as Bella and his master turned furious gazes upon him. He swallowed heavily, than tentatively continued. "Perhaps, instead of attacking right away, at dawn, we should take some time to train all the new recruits in the art of battle? To prepare ourselves, make a few plans?"

Lord Voldemort blinked, and contemplated for a moment. "It seems I was wrong about you, Rodolphus," he mused, rubbing his chin in his long-fingered hand. "Perhaps you are actually of some use. Very well. You have five days to train the others in Death Eater battle strategies," he barked to Narcissa and Bellatrix. "We can't risk waiting any longer and having the spies finding out and warning that flea-bitten mongrel, Lupin."

Rodolphus relaxed a fraction, breathing out in relief as Bella and Narcissa nodded their understanding and strode out of the room. His relief was short lived. It seemed he had overestimated his Lord's ability for forgiveness, as he turned to Rodolphus with an amused gleam in his slit eyes Rodolphus recognized all too well. He swallowed hard, and audibly.

"Since you have been so helpful, Rodolphus, I have a special assignment for you. You will assist my wife in anyway possible for the next three days. She seems to have grown inexplicably fond of you."

The evil red twinkle in his eyes was almost Dumbledore-esque, Rodolphus thought with a detached sort of horror.

The Cruciatus would be preferable to this.

**Potions Dungeon**

**Monday, November 9th, 1996**

Harry Potter sat angrily in Potions, next to a glum, pouting Zabini. Thankfully, Snape was swooping around the other side of the room, and therefore was unable to penalize Gryffindor for Harry's violent poundings of his scarab beetles and furious muttered curses under his breath.

Then again, "the other side of the room" consisted of Crabbe, Millicent Bulstrode, Neville, Seamus, and Dean, so it wasn't as if Snape had far to glide to reign his fury upon him. They had to be the world's smallest class; Harry thought as he slammed his roots on the table and began viciously hacking them into pieces.

With Lavender, Tracey, and Dez dead, the four other Slytherin girls dead, Parvati god knows where, Nott in the hospital wing and Hermione—Harry ground his teeth as he flung his mashed up ingredients into the boys' simmering cauldron.

He was going to** kill** Hermione. What the holy hell had she been _thinking_, leaving him behind like that? He was their _in _to Riddle. He had the almost-sorted-into-Slytherin edge, the Parseltongue, the similar looks and background, brother wand, and a bloody great** scar** on his forehead courtesy of the bastard. What in Godric's name did **_Hermione_ **have in common with him?

Yes, yes, besides the prefect thing. And overlooking the unholy obsession with grades, not to mention the fanatical reading. And besides the blatant disregard of rules they occasionally indulged in. And yes, okay, maybe they both kissed Professor arse, and were favored to be Head Boy and Head Girl respectively… Harry's mouth dropped open, his hand dangling uselessly in midair, dropping Newt's eyes out of its slackening grip. He didn't even notice Blaise's moody sighs and dark looks. He didn't

bat an eye as Neville's cauldron exploded across the dungeon, dousing everyone in the vicinity with the foul smelling antidote to dragon pox.

(_Mr._ _Longbottom! **Twelve billion** points from Gryffindor for your never ceasing incompetence!_)

Harry had finally, two days after Hermione had left, been hit with a realization, and was subsequently dumbfounded.

"My God! They're _exactly alike!_ They're like the same person, cloned, besides the fact that she's a girl and he's a boy, obviously… but they're cut from the same cloth! Two sides of the same coin! Poured from the same mold! Separated at—"

"**_Potter_**!" Snape roared. It had taken him this long to recover his senses after Harry's bizarre, random outburst.

Harry started in surprise; he had forgotten where he was. Blaise was staring at him, open mouthed, along with the rest of the class, who all, for some unfathomable reason, were covered in a slimy substance, and Snape, whose hair was hanging in dripping, stringy ribbons, and was towering over him at his table.

"What, in the name of all that Salazar holds holy, are you babbling about?" he menaced in a deadly whisper.

"None of your business, _sir_," Harry snapped, recovering admirably.

"Oh, really?" Snape whispered in still more deadly a tone, placing his hands on the desk and looming into Harry's face, teeth bared. Blaise kicked him hard in the ankle as a warning. "And how is it not my business, Potter, when you shout deranged drivel in the middle of my lesson?"

"Er, sir—" Zabini foolishly attempted.

"Silence Zabini, you traitor!" Snape bellowed.

"How dare you call him a traitor!" Harry roared, standing up so he was face to face with Snape. "Last time I checked, he wasn't the one with a great big ugly skull on his arm!" He pointed his finger directly at Snape in accusation. Blaise buried his head in his hands with a moan, conceding defeat.

"I suppose," Snape whispered in satisfaction, standing upright again, splattering potion from his swinging locks, "you want detention every night for the rest of the year, Potter? I do need a few barrels of horned toads to be disemboweled," he added gleefully.

"Sir, you should look into these punishment fantasies of yours involving Potter," Millicent Bulstrode drawled from the other side of the dungeon. "It's frankly getting a little disturbing."

Snape was so stunned by this defect by one of his last few "loyal" students, that all he could do was mouth soundlessly. Before he could stop choking on air, the bell rang signaling the end of class, and the students rushed out before Snape could recover, and deduct enough points to delve into their seventh year.

Blaise had had to grab Harry by the back of his robes and use all of his bordering-on-a-man strength and drag him out and away from the homicidal lunatic posing as a Potions master. Clearly, Blaise thought grimly, Potter either had disciplinarian fantasies of his own, or a death wish. One that involved maniacal, greasy men bent on pain and destruction. Whether the former or latter disturbing explanation was true, one thing held; Potter had more issues than _Witch Weekly_.

"What. The bloody hell. Is wrong with you?" Blaise gritted out, breathing heavily through his nose. "Is there something in the air in Gryffindor tower that makes you all a bunch of reckless, self-sacrificing morons?" he ranted, as the trickle of students around them left.

Harry glowered. "I don't know why you care anyway, Zabini," he said coldly, "Hermione isn't around for you to try and impress anymore."

Blaise ground to a halt, his expression a mixture of shock and indignation.

"You know, Potter," he said, his voice shaking slightly with repressed emotion, "I actually thought you weren't a complete wanker. I actually thought you were worth getting to know. But all you really are is a selfish little sod with anger management issues."

Blaise turned and began walking away.

"Wait. Zabini," Harry said. Blaise stopped without turning round. "Look, I'm sorry," Harry began, "it's just it's—I love her, you know?"

"Yeah," Blaise replied, "I do," he turned and faced Harry. "But I love her too, Potter, and I still—"

"No," Harry cut him off. "You don't."

"Fuck you, Potter," Blaise replied, incensed, "don't tell me what I feel."

"You **_don't_** love her Zabini," Harry insisted earnestly, "you can't. It's not your fault. You don't even know her."

"Maybe," Blaise said doubtfully. "But I know I could."

"Maybe you could love her like she used to be, the old Hermione," said Harry slowly, "but there's…. she's killed people, Zabini. _We've_ killed people, the two of us. Her mum's dead, Voldemort and Dolohov want her head on a pike…" Harry trailed off, a faraway look on his face. Blaise stood silent, and Harry shook his head a bit and continued. "But now she's different, she has to be to survive, and I don't think you could handle the darkness that is in her now."

"That's a load of bullocks, Potter," Zabini said coldly. "Hermione Granger, Golden Girl of Gryffindor tower, prefect, '_dark_'? If you don't want me to date her, just admit it," he menaced, stepping right into Harry's face.

"I didn't say anything about that!" Harry said angrily. "I never said a bloody word about you two sleeping together, did I?"

Blaise's mouth snapped open, his expression flashing amazement before shuttering blank. "I don't know what you are talking about, Potter," he lied icily.

"Don't play dumb," Harry snarled, "I'm not an idiot, Zabini."

"It's none of your business!" declared Blaise.

Harry changed the subject. "You just revealed yourself, Blaise," he said tiredly, looking at the other boy with pity. "A minute ago, you just proved my point; you don't know Hermione at all. You love what you think she is, what she stands for in your mind. You can't love her like she deserves."

And with that, The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Smash-Hearts-Into-The-Dust walked away, leaving a stunned Slytherin in his wake.

**First Floor Corridor**

It was surreal; Morag reflected as she walked through the crowd of students in the corridor, _everything_ was surreal since the night with Lisa Turpin, and Parvati Patil. She hadn't been sleeping much, for one, and she knew she wasn't alone. Trudging through the hall, pale and listless, she fit in quite well with the Hogwarts student population. It was the first time, really, that she realized she was in a crowd again; since so many had died, the castle seemed to loom larger, emptier, more menacing. Morag didn't know whether being in a crowd was comforting or not.

Justin Fintch-Fletchley was up ahead, standing next to Ernie, of course, who was holding hands with Millicent Bulstrode. If Hogwarts had been like it was a year ago, the gossip would be flying thick and fast. As it was now, their relationship barely caused a blip on the radar. Not paying attention, Morag bumped into someone.

"Oh, sorry," she said automatically, and recognized Neville Longbottom.

"It's alright," he said in his quiet voice, "it's crowded in here, innit?"

She nodded.

Neville made a game attempt to start conversation again.

"What do you think the assembly is about, Morag?"

She shrugged.

"I hope it isn't anything bad," Neville babbled nervously. Obviously, her silence was getting to him. "I don't think I can take anymore bad."

Morag was planning her non-response when they pushed through the crowd towards the entrance to the great hall and were squashed together again. She felt something decidedly sticky.

"What is that?" she said, alarmed, pointing at Neville's hair, where a glob of sickly green, smelly, slimy goo resided. Its brother goo now resided on her shoulder.

"Hmm?" Neville asked, distracted until he saw her shoulder. "Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry Morag!" he said, turning red alarmingly fast. "See—I was nervous and—exploded---thought I got it all…" he stammered, trying to wipe the goo off of her shoulder.

"Potions?" she asked wearily. She supposed she had that foul smelling goo to look forward to tomorrow.

"Yeah," Neville said weakly. "Look, I really am sorry about—"

"Oh, forget it," Morag said, feeling guilty about making poor Neville so on edge with her behavior.

By this time they had managed to squeeze through the doors and into the throng inside the Great Hall, where chattering students were making their way to the tables. Morag followed Neville to the Gryffindor table, where Dean Thomas and Michael Corner were holding hands, and Seamus--- She looked away.

"Morag!" someone cried out, in a desperate sort of voice as she sat next to Michael.

She had barely turned halfway round to look when Sam Capper flung himself into the empty seat beside her.

"There you are!" He said breathlessly. I've been looking for you everywhere!" He leaned in alarmingly close, as was his habit lately.

"I was in Defense Against the Dark Arts," she gently reminded him.

"Oh, oh—right!" Sam exclaimed, a faint flush covering his freckled face. He pulled a tattered piece of paper out of his robe pocket. "I guess I forgot all about this," he said sheepishly.

Morag smiled as best as she could. Capper had been following her everywhere ever since Eloise had put him under Imperius and forced him to kill Wayne and Theseus. She had finally just written him a copy of her schedule, to save herself a headache. She hadn't really known Sam all too well before the student death eater attacks, but hadn't that been the way it was with everyone before? Stick to your houses, no fraternization? She knew it was so.

Capper wasn't the only one on her tail constantly; she had two Hufflepuff puppies following her around; Sam and Tim Summerby, the Hufflepuff seeker. It was no mystery as to why; she had been the first one to comfort them after the initial horror, and both boys were sick with guilt and shame. Summerby was upset because he was the only Hufflepuff Seventh year spared, and he didn't know why, or how to come to grips with his brush with death. He still wouldn't tell anyone what exactly had happened with Eloise. Of course, Zacharias Smith, also a Seventh year Hufflepuff, hadn't died either, but Summerby thought that was different. Smith was meant to die. Smith had fought back, and saved Justin Fintch-Fletchley's life. Summerby had just lain immobilized while Eloise killed his roommates.

Sam's state was even worse. Morag knew Ernie and Justin had repeatedly told him they held no blame on him for what happened and that Wayne and Theseus would feel the same, that any of them would have done the same thing if it had been them under Imperius.

"But you weren't," was always Sam's monotonous response. "The rest of you were smart enough to get out of the way. If I had moved, too, we could've taken her down, all five of us, and Theseus and Wayne wouldn't be dead, and Eloise wouldn't be running around on the loose."

There was no arguing with him on this point, so Ernie and Justin just made helpless faces and tried fruitlessly to engage Sam back into their friendship.

Another blur of yellow and black whizzed into her vision, and suddenly Summerby was sitting next to Sam.

"Shove off, Capper," he said impatiently. "You sat next to her last time." Morag closed her eyes in horror. Neville was in shock, his mouth gaping open, Dean was trying to hide his snickering, and Michael was doing no such thing, and guffawing loudly. And Seamus….he was seeing the whole thing. She didn't even want to look at him. Morag knew that continuing to obsess over Seamus Finnigan was foolish after everything had happened, but it was the one shred of normalcy from her former life, (Quidditch had finally been suspended) and she clung to it like a pit-bull with a bone.

A loud bang interrupted her supreme embarrassment, and Morag turned to the Great Hall doors along with the rest of the students. By now, everyone had sat down with their friends at the tables; the houses so mixed and blended that it was impossible to tell where each and every student of a certain house was. The Professors had all importantly gathered at the long table, along with a few others, (Morag recognized the red hair of Fred, George, and Percy Weasley) and this was the atmosphere Harry Potter made his grand entrance into.

He was apparently in one of his moods. He stomped along the floor, his eyes narrowed until it looked impossible for him to even be able to see, his jaw was clenched, his cheek twitching, and a vein throbbed on his forehead. Yes. Definitely in one of his moods, Morag thought.

Potter seemed oblivious to the scene he was causing, as he stormed over to the former Gryffindor table and slumped into one of the empty seats besides Katie Bell.

"Well," Professor Snape's sneering, mocking voice breaking the silence, "now that Potter has had his attention seeking melodrama for the day, perhaps we can get started." Strangely, Harry appeared to have not heard a word the Potions Master said. Speaking of which….she did a double take. Sure, Snape was beyond greasy, but was that the same slimy green stuff in his hair that was now smudged onto her shoulder?

"Ah-hem, yes, Professor Snape, good idea, we shall get started," Professor Lupin broke in, before a fight could begin. Harry might not care that Snape was mocking him, but more than a few Professors, including Hagrid, were glaring at Snape. "Now---"

The doors banged open dramatically again.

"Oh, for the love of—" Lupin started exasperatedly.

Blaise Zabini stormed in. Morag had never really noticed Zabini before, she didn't think anyone had; they knew he existed but never gave him a second thought. When he started dating Hermione Granger, though… suddenly EVERYONE knew who he was. He was the new Mr. Popularity, people constantly waving to him and calling to him, and he had borne it amicably enough, if not in a slightly bewildered fashion, while Granger was still around. Now though, Granger had disappeared. Well, not disappeared. Potter and Lupin seemed to know what she was up to, and Zabini seemed to have an inkling, but the rest of them where completely in the dark.

If he had tolerated the attention before, now that Granger was gone, he had turned as hostile as Potter in one of his moods. He seemed to be constantly brooding, sneering, glaring, or giving moody sighs and dark looks. The amount of times in a day he said "piss off" to people was indescribably high. The rude gestures, the hostility towards all authority figures, and above all, his seething hatred of girls who were bent on "cheering him up" now that Granger seemed to have deserted him…. Well… frankly Zabini was now a bit scary.

And he was making as big of a scene as Potter had. Zabini NEVER made scenes. He might be rude and surly, but the yelling, facial twitching, and vein popping was all Potter. Zabini, however, seemed to have learned a little something from his mentor.

"POTTER!" he bellowed in a voice so loud and threatening it must have made Snape jealous. "POTTER YOU BASTARD, WE WEREN'T DONE!"

Morag's mind instantly went to a filthy, filthy place.

"YOU CAN'T JUST WALK AWAY FROM A WIZARD'S DUEL!" Zabini shrieked, sounding more than a little deranged.

Now Potter was paying attention.

"I can do whatever the bloody hell I want!" he snapped, yelling across the flabbergasted and frozen crowd in the room.

"I won't let you dishonor Hermione that way!" Zabini shouted dangerously.

You could almost hear every ear in the room perking up for the incoming gossip.

"I'm not dishonoring her!" Potter yelled indignantly, standing up, Katie Bell rolling her eyes beside him. "**_You'r_e** dishonoring her by not believing the truth!"

Morag believed this screaming match would've gone on much longer, with the level of fascination the occupants of the Great Hall were watching the two combatants, had not a voice interrupted, a voice both lower-pitched and more threatening.

"That is enough!" Viktor Krum, that is--_Professor_ Krum yelled from the teacher's table. "I vill not have you discussing Herm-own-ninny's business like this! Both of you sit and be silent!"

Meekly, both boys sat and were silent.

Krum nodded once in satisfaction, and then sat back down, turning politely back to Lupin as if he had not just single-handedly controlled the two most out of control students at Hogwarts.

"Er, um, yes, thank you, Professor Krum," the headmaster stammered, regaining control of the assembly. "Even though there have been innumerable horrors in our lives lately," he began gravely; "you have all risen to the occasion magnificently. Instead of becoming more clannish, angrier, and paranoid, you have all opened your hearts to all of the students at Hogwarts, regaining the unity the Sorting Hat so wisely talked about. Here I see Hufflepuffs and Slytherins," he nodded at Ernie and Millicent, while Professor Snape looked to be retching in the background, "Ravenclaws and Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs," he gestured at Morag's group, "and even though we have just witnessed a quarrel between them, Slytherins and Gryffindors." At this, Professor Snape made an audible gagging noise. Professor Lupin's face spasmed. He moved on, reluctantly ignoring Snape.

"But as of now, I need all of you back at your old house tables; I need you sitting with all of your year mates around you. I need the first years at the head of the table closest to me, all the way in order to the seventh years at the end. This is only temporary, but a necessary component of what we will be discussing today. Please slowly and quietly make your way to the proper spots, filling in every empty seat."

The students looked confused, but did as Headmaster Lupin requested. Morag left the Gryffindor table, and Summerby and Capper, both looking stricken, walked to the Hufflepuff table without her. She sat next to Padma Patil at the Ravenclaw table. Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein, the only boys left in their year, sat across from them. Marietta Edgecombe was silent and sad on Anthony's other side. Her fellow seventh year class was dwindled as well. Somewhere around twenty of her fellow 'Claws had been killed, making their table empty and haunted.

Morag looked around the hall as everyone slowly set into place. She was morbidly curious to see what the new Hogwarts' Houses looked like.

It was immediately clear the Slytherins had been hit the hardest, which was no surprise. Crabbe, Zabini, and Millicent Bulstrode were the only ones who remained from Morag's year.

Barely any Seventh years remained; Byron or Bryan or whatever his name was and Chris Jones were the only two she recognized, and Edith Lodgeman.

The third years were completely wiped out with the exception of Kyle Stebbins and three girls. Morag turned away, nauseous from the Slytherins. They were missing at least sixty students, and that was a generously low estimate at that.

Hufflepuff wasn't much better. Her eyes first hit her year mates again; poor Capper was sitting next to Hannah Abbot and Megan Jones, avoiding Ernie and Justin's eyes. Susan Bones sat next to Justin, and across from her was the lone duo of Seventh year Hufflepuffs; Tim Summerby and Zacharias Smith. Morag estimated at least twenty of the Badger's numbers were gone.

The Gryffindors were oddly lopsided. Harry Potter, Neville, Seamus and Dean were all there, but every girl from sixth year was gone. Morag wasn't sure whether to count Hermione Granger in their number. Perhaps she wasn't dead. Katie Bell was the sole Seventh Year female Gryffindor, with at least ten boys still left in her year. The Lionesses were outnumbered in every year down the line at Gryffindor. Their boys had gotten lucky.

When everyone was finally in place, Lupin spoke again.

"These are drastic times, which call for drastic measures." Snape coughed a loud "Clichéd!" into his fist. Lupin's hands ominously twisted on the podium he was behind, clearly wishing they were around the Potion Master's neck.

"Regular classes are to be put on hold for a week," Lupin declared, "to be replaced by seminars devoted to learning battle techniques, what to do if the school itself is attacked, and so on and so forth." He paused, as if expecting a rude interruption from Snape, and not receiving one, continued.

"Each year of students will be grouped together and taught spells and other skills on their level of knowledge and beyond. Professor Wood," he gestured to an unusually somber looking Oliver, "will be teaching everyone how to escape and evade attackers by broomstick. Those without broomsticks will be given one. Professor Snape will be teaching, alongside with Mr. Potter, a highly skilled course on dueling." At this, both Snape and Harry shrieked in unison.

_"Lupin, if you expect me to work with that ungrateful, conceited little…"_

_"Professor you can't possibly force me to come in more contact with that slimy…"_

Lupin had to raise his voice almost five octaves before he could drown them out. "Professor Krum will be teaching Advanced Dark Arts, and how to combat them when faced with them in battle. Professor Hagrid will be instructing you in magical beasts that can aid you when you are in need. Professor-"

_"…highly incompetent, lazy brat with an ego the size of…"_

_"…overgrown bat on a power trip over little children that…"_

Morag zoned out as Lupin steadfastly raised his voice and continued his monologue of Professors and their new courses. She picked up the relevant information: new schedules would be passed out immediately after assembly, the three Weasleys would also be teaching defensive classes, there would be additional classes for residents of Hogsmeade and some of the refugees in the castle, the Muggle families would be learning their own protective measures, and— Morag suddenly, clearly, heard what Lupin said next.

"Also, I believe strongly that being knowledgeable in the arts of Muggle combat and Muggle espionage is **_crucial _**to defeat the Death Eaters and Voldemort."

(Mass wincing.)

"They think these arts are beneath them, and therefore would not know what to do if attacked by Muggle means. Luckily, we have with us, here in Hogsmeade, three experts in such Muggle arts, who have agreed to teach courses focusing on this knowledge. These three experts are here tonight, and I will have the honor of introducing you to them in a moment."

"Here to teach the art of spying is a Muggle woman of great stealth and subterfuge. But even more to our benefit, comes a warrior and his son, the latter of whom is the reigning Junior Inter-School Boxing Champion of the South East—"

An unidentifiable noise shrilly came from Potter.

"May I present to you Dudley Dursley, and his parents Petunia and Vernon!"

The scream of horror that followed this announcement broke approximately sixteen windows in the castle.

**Sunday, September 10th, 1943 : The Witching Hour**

A group of hooded students sat on the outer edge of a circle drawn in blood, the interior containing a seven pointed, overlapping star known as the septagram. Candles were held in the right hand of every student, a handful of herbs in the other, with the exception of three. These other students held silk bags containing components of their spell. The first student spoke, their voice lowered and husky.

"If those who are foolish stand in your way, treat them cruelly and without mercy."

"Hail," the other hooded figures intoned.

The speaker threw a bloody pig's heart into the center of the septagram.

The student on the left of the first spoke: "When seeking power and knowledge, those who oppose you must be destroyed."

"Hail," was repeated.

The innards of an animal joined the pig's heart.

The student on the right of the first spoke next: "Respect the power of magic. Without magic, we are no more than animals."

"Hail," a third time.

Dry bones joined the innards and the pig's heart.

The First; "We serve our Master."

"Hail."

The Second; "We worship him in his wisdom."

"Hail."

The Third; "We seek power and he gives it to us."

"Hail!"

At this last and loudest hail, all present with hands full threw their various herbs into the center. Wands were withdrawn, spells were simultaneously cast. The candles were thrown last, igniting the mass in the center. Blue flames leapt and danced, crackled and fizzled, more beautifully than any diamond. Abruptly, the flames ceased and smoke, inky purple, rose sinuously from the wreckage.

The spell had been cast.


	15. Deception

**Disclaimer: **Do I look rich and British to you? No? Then I own nothing, except my own sense of paranoia.**  
**

**A/N: **Right, I know this has been insanely late. As a tiny defense, this chapter has been done for awhile, I've just been waiting for my beta to get back to me, but as she has a life, and I'm impatient, I'm just posting the un-beta'd version anyway. ;o) For real this time, next chapter will be up sooner. It WILL. I've written about 1/2--3/4 of it already. Last time I posted a chapter I hadn't written a scrap of this one, so I'm slightly more reliable when I say it will be up sooner next time.

As always, feel free to check out my livejournal for updates on my progress if you are so inclined, or drop me an email. Thanks to my reviewers, I adore you all! I haven't responded to all my reviews yet, but trust me that doesn't mean I don't love them, cause I do. Sometimes the reviews shame me back into writing and out of my writer's block (although this in NO WAY means "please leave a review bitching about my lack of updates!" because those actually don't motivate me at all, heh, I'm very contrary) so leave me one, even if it's to tell me that I suck. (Although that might make me cry. Um, say it nicely? ;o) ) Thanks for everyone sticking with me this long.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen:**** Deception**

**Sunday, September 13****th****, 1943**

"Did you go?"

"Of course," Evelyn responded, a little irritable. Really, Tom had no faith in her at all.

He eyed her for a moment, apparently weighing the level of scorn in her voice.

"How was it?"

Evelyn glanced around the corridor. She knew Tom would pick a deserted spot, he was incredibly paranoid, but she was still terrified of being overheard. Riddle made an impatient noise, grabbed her arm, and dragged her into the nearest room; an empty, dust filled classroom. He locked the door and put an Imperturble charm on it.

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. She was locked in an abandoned room in a deserted corner of the castle with Tom Riddle, and no one could hear her if she had to—she attempted to rid herself of this line of thought when Tom turned towards her, but judging by his half smile it was too late. The smile didn't reach his eyes. It never did. Well, she amended, it _did,_ but it never did genuinely. She could tell.

"Can you?" Tom asked suddenly, causing her to jump a little. "I suppose I need to work on that," his smile was even colder now.

"No," Evelyn hastened to explain, "no, it's –" Riddle again waved a hand at her impatiently. "How was it?" he repeated.

"Same as always," Evelyn said, and now she couldn't keep the sulk out of her voice. "Boring, stupid, pointless. When can I come back?" And she _knew_ she was whining, she could hear it in her voice and she hated it, but it couldn't be helped.

"Not yet," Riddle said, his gaze finally off of her, his eyes looking intensely at nothing while he thought. "You know that."

"Yes," Evelyn said miserably, "but Tom…" his eyes snapped back to her sharply and she quickly corrected herself "Lord Voldemort, I meant, I'm afraid they'll find out."

He snorted. "They won't find out," he said contemptuously, then switched subjects. "Do you have a list?"

Evelyn pulled out a roll of parchment and handed it over. Tom (Lord Voldemort, she internally corrected) broke the seal and unrolled it, his eyes scanning the list.

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"_Pretty_ sure? Either you are sure or you are not."

"I'm not completely sure," she amended defensively, "there always could be more I don't know about. But I'm as sure as I'm going to get." Rid—_Voldemort _eyed her a moment longer, than turned back to the parchment.

"What about Hermione Granger?" he asked abruptly.

"Hermione Granger?" Evelyn parroted blankly.

"Yes, the new girl," he snapped, a furrow appearing between his brow as he continued to scan the list. "Bushy hair. On the plain side. Very strange. In your house. Your new friend," he said that last part in an accusatory fashion, a tiny smirk playing at his mouth.

"I can't help it if she doesn't like me!" Evelyn retorted, needled. "It's like she knows that I'm…"

"That you're what?" Tom asked, the smirk growing wider.

"That I'm not—not—_**honest**_!" she spat out.

He rolled his eyes.

"Gryffindors," Tom sneered, "you're so melodramatic, every single one of you. Ridiculously predictable. And you are getting angry for no reason, Evelyn dear, I was just going to ask you if she was there."

"Isn't she a half-blood?" Evelyn asked, confused.

"Muggle-born," Tom responded, his attention clearly elsewhere again.

"No, she's a half-blood, I'm certain Tom," she almost corrected herself before she realized Riddle wasn't particularly paying attention to what she called him anyway.

"You are **sure** this time, Evelyn, not _**pretty sure**_?" he said, mocking her.

"Positive," she spat. "She's a half-blood, one of her parents taught her magic before they died and she came to Hogwarts, and _I'm telling you_ she wasn't there." She thought Tom was ignoring her until he finished reading the parchment, rolled it up briskly, and lit fire to it, destroying the evidence.

"That's good," he said, smiling one of his rare approving smiles at her (still didn't reach his eyes) "very good. I understand you are frustrated Evelyn, but you are my most important Knight, I can't have you coming back before I know it's safe."

Evelyn blushed. She couldn't help it. Everyone wanted Tom Riddle's attention, his approval, and it was hard to get. She wasn't angry with him anymore, even though she knew that was exactly his intention in praising her. It was extremely difficult to resist Tom Riddle when he wanted to be charming.

* * *

**Monday, September 14****th****, 1943**

**Great Hall**

It was extremely difficult to resist Tom Riddle when he wanted to be charming and she wanted to blast him with Avada Kedavra, Hermione thought, annoyed. Everyone found him to be absolutely wonderful, and of course it would be incredibly suspicious to act like _**she**_ didn't find him charming in the least. So she had avoided him after he had spent the entirety (the completely hellish entirety) of Arithmancy Friday afternoon being as humble and helpful and handsome and likable as he possibly could be. Her whole face had hurt from the effort it took not to appear revolted, so she had lost her Gryffindor bravery and hid in her dormitory (and the kitchens at mealtimes) all weekend.

Hermione had of course finished all of her homework for the next two weeks by the time Saturday was only half gone, so she had resorted to helping Brigitte with her homework. Poor Brigitte. Hermione felt a certain sort of bond with the lonely French transfer. Marlene clearly was friendly to anyone, and Brigitte hadn't attempted to make many (or more accurately, any) other friends. Marlene was not the studious type, Marion was an uptight, cold, bore, Moody was borderline insane, and to top it all off, Brigitte's English was quite bad. Moody, Marion, Marlene, Hermione thought as she ate breakfast for the first time in the Great Hall in three days, who was she leaving—

"Good morning, Hermione!" Evelyn Sanders slid into the empty sight on her right. "Looking forward to your second week?" she asked cheerfully.

Right, Evelyn. She always seemed to forget Evelyn. Probably because she was never around, and when she was she was so quiet it was like she still wasn't there. Not at the moment though, Hermione noted, semi-amused. In fact, Evelyn was downright Marlene-esque.

"I didn't know where you were this weekend, and then Marlene told me you were off helping Brigitte outside somewhere, and I went to join you girls but I couldn't find you, although I did run into Rubeus, the sweet boy, and talked to him for a while and it was really nice of you to help Brigitte, Hermione, honestly, I mean that, and Rubeus had the most _interesting_ animal…" all while she vociferously tackled her food.

It was as if the two girls had switched bodies, Hermione smiled to herself, except for the Marlene was a few seats away and behaving the exact same way Evelyn was. Odd. Maybe she had written Evelyn off as shy and rather boring too early.

Hermione looked up, still smiling a bit, and saw Igneus Malfoy at the Ravenclaw table, making everyone around him laugh. He caught her gaze and tipped her a jaunty wave, his face lit up with laughter. Not for the first time Hermione thought of Draco Malfoy and how he could have learned a thing or two from Igneus. He would have looked much better with a constant smile, as opposed to his constant smirk, and she grinned wider at the thought of giving Draco Malfoy advice on how to be less heinous and unattractive.

It was, of course, at this precise moment, when Hermione's own face was shining from her amusement that she accidentally locked gazes with Tom Riddle, who smiled hugely at her back. It was impressively genuine looking, his eyes were even crinkled and smiling. She hastily looked away before she vomited all over the table, showing Tom Riddle _**exactly**_ how she felt about his charm. Evelyn had fallen silent beside her and was staring off at the Slytherins herself, a small frown on her face. Hermione followed her eye line to confirm that yes, Evelyn was staring at Riddle, who had turned to the person next to him.

Not for the first time (and it surely wouldn't be the last, Hermione thought cynically) did she wish she was able to tell someone at least _partially_ the truth. The thought of sweet, sensitive little Evelyn being broken up at the idea of her and Riddle…it was unbearable.

She had no idea why Riddle had spent all of Arithmancy fueling the gossip mill about the two of them, but she knew it was for reasons that benefited him only. And of course, she knew that her own outward "feelings" towards Riddle were completely and utterly an act, and yet she had to be silent and let poor Evelyn be heartbroken. Protesting it would only make it worse, as she had discovered. At least, she thought, cheering up a bit, this was keeping Evelyn out of Riddle's slimy grasp.

* * *

Marion Hinsley wasn't the warmest person, certainly not the most inviting, but she was a good person nonetheless. She was extremely intelligent, hardworking, and honest. The Sorting Hat had had an exceedingly difficult time determining where to place her. Her choices in friends seemed more than a bit odd to those who didn't know her, but as different as they were, she admired and respected Marlene, and even Alastor and Evelyn, tremendously.

Which is why she didn't want that no good Hermione Granger (if that was even her real name) anywhere near her friends. They all seemed completely and utterly oblivious to how…_**wrong**_ the girl was, how extremely suspicious she and all her behavior really were. Even Moody was won over by Granger, and Alastor was the most paranoid person Marion had ever met. He hadn't even taken it to heart when Granger snapped at him, the very opposite in fact; he had now started uttering "constant vigilance!" at every opportunity.

But Marion knew better. Granger was chummy with Riddle, for one --and no one else might see _that_ either, that there was something wrong with Riddle as well-- and he made Marion's skin crawl.

Then there was the fact that everyone liked her. Igneus Malfoy had been praising her wit nonstop. Belinda Harper had nattered on and on about "dear Hermione" all throughout the Prefect meeting on Sunday, Igneus jumping in to agree and shower more praise on the new girl every time. Wyatt Corsington, one of the most popular boys in their year, adored her. Why, even the people who disliked her only made her look better with their contempt. Having the nasty Malfoy twins, snotty Estelle Black and crazy Ethelinda Higgs loathing her only made her appear that much more wonderful to the people who hadn't even spoken a word to her. The incident in Professor Kettleburn's class last week had been blown up and exaggerated to such extreme proportions you would think Granger had single-handedly defeated Grindelwald and ended world hunger from the way people were going on, not just told a bunch of rude inbreeds that they were rude inbreeds.

Even the Professors adored her, and this irked Marion endlessly. _**She**_ was the star Gryffindor, not this fraud. However, Marion genuinely thought she could overlook all the other things…if it weren't for Tom Riddle. She had seen Granger staring at Riddle that night in the library, she hadn't been making that up. At first she thought Tom's Tarts had gained a new member, but now she knew better. Tom's Tarts were beneath his notice, and Riddle noticed Granger. Excessively. No one had ever seen anything like it, and frankly Marion never had thought anyone would. She had worked with Riddle enough times during the years in class and as a fellow prefect to know better.

Yet still, _**still **_she might just chalk this unexpected occurrence to hormones, or boredom, or Igneus Malfoy's brainwashing, if it weren't for the fact that she had seen Granger _glaring_ at Riddle. She rarely did this, and when she did it was always for very short periods of time, but it was a distinct glare. Why, would the girl who had tried, and by all appearances, finally _**succeeded **_in ensnaring Tom Riddle glare at him like she wanted to kill him? Marion didn't know, but she was planning on finding out.

* * *

Potions. Again. Hermione wished the Friday All-Slytherin free-for-all included double potions, instead of two classes of regular potions a week, and therefore freeing up her Mondays from Riddle (aside from Ancient Runes later on) but no. She had made sure to pounce upon the table where Marlene was sitting, Marion be damned, just to ensure that Riddle wouldn't ooze over to her desk again, and it had worked and now all she had to worry about was making sure she was adding the right amount of squid tentacles to her—

"Everything alright, Hermione?" Riddle pleasantly inquired from behind her left shoulder.

She jumped and all the excess tentacles in her hand fell in with a splash. Grinding her teeth, she whirled around.  
"Well it was," she snarled into Riddle's startled face, "until some _idiot_ decided it was a good idea to sneak up behind me and cause me to ruin my potion."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth (indeed, while the words were still coming out of her mouth) Hermione realized she had made a colossal mistake. The entire room was dead silent. Everyone's mouth was hanging open, except for Evelyn and Marion, who both had very odd expressions; Riddle, who was staring at her blankly; and the Slytherin Snob Squad, who had burst out laughing. It took her a moment to realize they were laughing at _Riddle_ instead of her, before Professor Bowers broke in.

"Miss Granger, do not distract your classmates," she said sternly from the front of the room.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest the unfairness of this, because how was it even physically possible for her to distract Riddle when he was sitting behind her (wait…why was Riddle was sitting behind her? Riddle always sat at the middle desk all the way in the front, regardless of the class…) when she was spared a likely detention.

"It's my fault Professor," Riddle interjected earnestly, "I caused Miss Granger to ruin her potion."

Professor Bowers was clearly floored that her prize pupil was the one at fault, but accepted it readily enough.

"Oh, well… do not distract your classmates, Mr. Riddle. And since you ruined Miss Granger's potion you will help her make a new one."

"That won't be necessary," Hermione said hastily, as Riddle opened his mouth to agree.

"I'll help her Professor," Marion offered.

"Thank you Miss Hinsley my dear," Professor Bowers said. Judging by her benevolent look, Marion was also one of her favorite students. "The rest of you get back to your potions," she ordered the rest of the silent (or sniggering) class.

Professor Bowers was clearly not one to mess around with, as evidenced by the whole class immediately obeying. Riddle still stood next to her.

"My apologies, Hermione," he said stiffly, "that was not my intention," he had an unidentifiable look on his face. She had to fix this. Now.

"No, I'm sorry Tom," Hermione said even more awkwardly than he had, "it was rude of me to snap at you when you were just trying to help. I'm afraid I've been quick to anger every since my parents…." She trailed off, looking down. _Buy it Riddle, buy it,_ she hissed in her head.

"There is no need for explanations," Riddle said, and his fake 'concerned and kind' voice was back. "I'm an orphan myself."

Hermione looked up and was about to say something trite when Riddle glanced at her once then turned swiftly and walked away. Well. Their lying to each other had gone splendidly. Thank God no one had overheard that conversation except for Marion and Marlene.

"Thank you," Hermione said abruptly to Marion, "I appreciate the help."

"You're welcome," Marion replied sedately, "I believe we got off on the wrong foot, don't you?"

Hermione agreed instantly, though she doubted how fully Marion meant it. The three girls worked in silence for awhile.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Marlene asked her quietly out of nowhere.

"What?" Hermione said blankly.

"Back home, I mean, where you used to live," Marlene clarified. "Is that why you get so upset when we tease you about Riddle?"

"Yes," Hermione said before she could stop herself, "I do. His name is Blaise."

Marion and Marlene were both looking at her sympathetically.

"Do you miss him a lot?" Marion questioned.

"Yes," Hermione answered truthfully. A thought struck her. "He's a Muggle though, he's the son of one of my mother's friends, so I can't write him from Hogwarts."

_Good, that was good_, she said to herself. She had almost let herself talk her way into a trap.

"Does he know that you are a witch?" Marlene asked.

Hermione paused a moment before replying in the negative.

"I couldn't get up the guts to tell him before I left," she fabricated. She would need to write this down later, to make sure she kept her lies straight.

"You could still tell him now," Marlene said encouragingly, "when I told some of my Muggle friends they didn't care at all. They thought it was the best thing ever."

"I'm never going back there, though," Hermione said, frantically trying to think of a plausible excuse, "and I doubt a family of Muggles would take well to owl post."

She thought of Harry and the Dursleys for a second before shoving it away.

"We'll think of something," Marlene said confidently, smiling at her. "Won't we, Marion?"

Hermione smiled back at the two of them as she wondered how much the operation to remove the foot that was permanently lodged in her mouth would cost.


	16. Misconceptions

Chapter Fifteen: Misconceptions

**A/N:** Well…yes. So I said it would be sooner. And then my life got ridiculously melodramatic. Hence it not being sooner. The next chapter is already written, so expect it up in the relatively near future. Also? Reviews are LOVE.

**Chapter Fifteen:**** Misconceptions**

"I didn't know you had in you, Mudblood," one of the Malfoy twins drawled in a disturbingly approving tone.

"She's not a Muggle-born Dougal," Marlene snapped from next to Hermione, "her father was a wizard."

"Not like it matters, anyway," Marion said coldly from Hermione's other side, "blood status is a fallacious argument for superiority with absolutely no evidence to support it."

"Sorry if there were too many big words in there for you to understand," Evelyn sneered.

Hermione remained silent, her hand that was in her pocket grasping her wand twitching slightly. They had cornered her after Potions, but her Gryffindor friends had made sure she didn't have to face the Slytherin Snob Squad alone. She would _rather_ be facing them alone, and she would_ rather_ them be insulting her, like her friends (and Marion) seemed to think they were doing. But they weren't. Hermione knew better. They were, in fact, _impressed_ with her for insulting Riddle in front of the whole class. This was highly unexpected, and a most unwelcome development, especially when she had the sneaking suspicion that the entire class, including Riddle, were right behind her in the corridor listening to every word.

"We weren't talking to _you_," Estelle Black said witheringly, "we were talking to Hermione."

_Hermione._ Her insides shriveled with mortification and rage. _But what should she do?_ She stayed silent in her uncertainty.

"Oi, Riddle!" shouted the other Malfoy twin to someone behind Hermione, confirming her worst suspicions, "how does it feel to have someone put you in your place?"

_Right. There was only one thing to do now._

"Put him in his place?" Hermione said frostily. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, _Malfoy_. I apologized to Tom for how inexcusably rude I had been. Please don't assume I in any way share your beliefs or behaviors," and she swept away, chin high, ignoring the incredulous looks and dead silence from all around her.

"No," Ethelinda Higgs, who had remained silent until now called after her, "she _doesn't_ share our beliefs or behaviors. She_ likes_ the filthy half-blood, you see. Probably is already planning their wedding."

_No_, Hermione though in a panic, _no, don't—_

"Shows as much as you know, Ethelinda!" Marlene whirled around and yelled. "Hermione already has a boyfriend!"

* * *

Gossip already traveled at an inhumanly quick rate at Hogwarts to begin with, but this time everyone had outdone themselves, Hermione thought miserably, as she hid in the kitchens eating lunch with the House Elves. She was too wretched to even attempt to talk to the House Elves about S.P.E.W., as she listlessly ate a sandwich. And it wasn't over yet. She couldn't avoid Riddle forever. She couldn't even avoid him for another hour. Ancient Runes was next.

"Heard about Hermione," Igneus Malfoy said, his usual jocular tone rather half-hearted. "I'm sorry, Tom, I know she—"

"She what?" Riddle snapped, thoroughly sick of the whole business. If _**one more person**_ came up to him expressing their condolences or—_other things_—then he couldn't possibly be held responsible for his actions. _ Dumbledore will hold you accountable_, a voice whispered in his head, which he ruthlessly ignored.

"Well," Igneus began again awkwardly, "I know she--"

"Tom!" said a fifth year Ravenclaw girl, who was bright eyed and breathless as she rushed up to him the hallway, interrupting Igneus. "I just heard the news. I'm_ so_ sorry Tom. That stupid girl doesn't know _what _she's missing," the Ravenclaw said, opening her eyes wide and batting them in a truly nauseating fashion. "And really, she's not all that clever, and she's certainly not that pretty _anyway_. You could do much, much better than—"

"Yes, _thank you_, we don't need any more input from Tom's Tarts," Igneus said irritably, grabbing Riddle and dragging him away from another one of his deranged groupies.

Tom attempted to smile apologetically at the girl as Igneus steered him away. Really, as useful as Igneus Malfoy could be, he had the _worst_ habit of scaring off Tom's potential new followers.

The boys stopped by a window covered in spider webs.

"Anyway Tom, as I was saying—"

"Oh, Tom!" exclaimed a seventh year Slytherin girl, "I just—"

"_**Will you bugger off!**_" Igneus roared, and the girl started and scampered away, glaring over her shoulder at Igneus the whole time.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. He could feel a migraine coming on.

"Look," he hissed, "I have _no idea _why everyone seems convinced I am smitten with this girl but it is patently false."

Igneus looked highly taken aback. "Tom…mate…you can be honest with _me_," he said, his expression and voice one of mingled hurt and surprise. "You know I wouldn't tell anyone."

"There is _nothing to tell_," Riddle gritted out, pinching his nose still harder and clenching his eyes tightly shut.

"But…you seemed…."

"I seemed _what_?" Riddle asked dangerously.

"Stop acting this way," Igneus exclaimed, bewildered. "What's the matter with you? You know _exactly _what I mean. I've never seen you pay so much attention to a girl before."

"What about Belinda?" Riddle pointed out crossly.

"That's different," Igneus said dismissively, "and you know _that _too. It seems as if…well…that you like her."

Riddle continued to pinch the bridge of his nose, his grip so hard and his eyes shut so tightly that they were starting to water.

_That stupid girl, _he thought savagely,_ that stupid, stupid girl. How __**anyone**__ could think he was interested in her when __**any**__ of the girls in the school…_

His eyes flew open, his hand leaving his poor nose alone, finally.

"I am a prefect," he said, "I want to be Head Boy next year. She is an orphan, she has never been to Hogwarts. I am doing my job. And may I remind you," he added, turning on Igneus, his temper sharply rising again, "that _you_ have been_ far_ friendlier to her than I have been."

"I'm like that with everyone," Igneus said, which was perfectly true. "You're friendly with people, but not _this _friendly."

"This topic is closed," Tom said ominously.

Igneus rolled his eyes. "Yes _sir_, Mr. Riddle _sir_," he said, throwing a sarcastic salute. He turned and sauntered away, not whistling or bouncing for once.

Riddle stared after him blankly, his mind on other, bushy headed things. As he watched a fourth year Gryffindor girl hurrying his way, her skirt noticeably shorter than it should be, he gritted his teeth. _She was going to pay for this.

* * *

_

"He's a Muggle," Evelyn hissed at Tom Riddle from between the stacks of books in the restricted section they were hiding in. "The boy she's dating."

"And WHY," Tom exploded, still careful to keep his voice lowered, "do you think that I _care_? I skipped lunch to come in here and get away from all this nonsense for _one blessed second_ and you, of all people, think I care," he paused for breath, deflating a bit. "A Muggle? That's revolting," he sneered, marring his handsome features.

"Yes, his name is Blaze or Blace or Blake or something," Evelyn said eagerly, now that Tom's rage seemed to have subsided.

"How in Salazar's name did you find that out? Have you actually made friends with her?"

"No," Evelyn said grudgingly, "I heard her talking about him to Marion and Marlene in Potions. But don't worry Tom, she hasn't even told him she's a witch, and I don't think she's going to."

"Don't worry?" Riddle repeated slowly, the rage starting to boil to the surface again. "Don't _worry?_ Don't worry about—"

"For your plan, I mean," Evelyn said quickly. "Whatever it is you need her for. You don't honestly think that I thought you liked her?"

Riddle paused, than gave her another one of his rare approving smiles.

"Very good Evelyn," he said, still smiling, "it seems there is at least one person in this entire blasted school who has a brain."

* * *

"Where were you during lunch, Hermione?" Marion asked her outside the Ancient Runes classroom. "The whole school was talking, Riddle was missing too."

"What?" Hermione said blankly, horrified.

"I tried to convince everyone you missed your boyfriend so they would shut up about you and Riddle already, but the fact that you were both missing…" the severe looking girl shrugged. "I'm sure you can imagine how that looked."

Hermione groaned, thankful that she had gone to class early and that no one else had yet arrived.

"Well," she said, attempting desperately to look on the bright side, "at least Tom's Tarts won't be out for blood anymore, now they know I've a boyfriend."

Marion looked at her pityingly.

"Hermione, weren't you _listening_ to me?" she asked, her voice tinged with exasperation. "I said Riddle was missing at lunch too, and it made it worse. Not to mention the fact that The Tarts hate you more for being stupid enough to pick some boy no one's ever heard of over Tom."

"That doesn't even make sense!" Hermione exclaimed desperately. "And besides, Blaise is much better than _Riddle_," she added mutinously.

"You were under the impression that Tom's Tarts were rational?" Marion asked dryly.

Hermione fumed in silence. "It'll be even better once they find out I'm stuck in his group in Ancient Runes," she said sarcastically.

"They already know," Marion said, raising an eyebrow. "Did you _also_ forget the part where they are obsessive stalkers?'

A Malfoy twin rounded the corner, his perma-sneer in place, effectively ending their conversation. All three stared at each other contemptuously before a group of chattering Hufflepuffs joined them as well.  
"At least you're not stuck in a group with_ him_," Marion said in a lowered voice, jerking her head at the Malfoy twin disgustedly.

"Which one is that?" Hermione asked. "I can't tell them apart at all."

"Phobos," Marion replied. "He's fractionally less of an idiot than Dougal."

"What kind of a horrible name is 'Phobos' anyway?" Hermione said spitefully as more of their classmates joined them (although Belinda and Riddle (thank god) weren't among them.)

"It means 'fear' as he so often likes to remind us."

Hermione snorted. "Fear?" she repeated witheringly. "Oooh yes, he's absolutely_ terrifying_."

"A lot of people seem to think so," Marion said, look at her curiously, "but you don't seem afraid at all. Of anyone."

_Not afraid of anyone?_ Oh how Hermione wished Marion was right.

"I'm afraid," she said quietly, "I'm afraid of a lot of things. I just don't go around advertising it."

"You certainly don't," Marion agreed, smiling a bit.

Professor Efferguard opened the door to let them in just as Riddle and Belinda showed up with a girl who had stringy blonde hair. Dorcas Meadowes. Hermione felt a little ill as she followed Marion inside.

"I'm afraid of a lot of things," she repeated quietly to herself.

* * *

"And remember, a guaranteed 'O' on the assignment, along with 25 house points apiece to the winning team," Professor Efferguard said as she wrapped up her explanation of their group projects. "Move into your assigned groups," she instructed cheerfully, ignoring the few rebellious mumblings that were coming from various sources.

Marion and Hermione turned to give each other rueful looks_. Life was really much easier now that Marion had decided to be friendly,_ Hermione thought idly as she made her way over to Riddle and Dorcas Meadowes. She wasn't sure what had brought on the change, besides her revelation that she had a boyfriend. _She'd have to thank Blaise when she saw him_, she thought, a smile playing around her mouth a moment before it abruptly dropped_. __**When you see Blaise?**_ A voice hissed in her head. _You moron, you might never see Blaise or Harry again, and it's doing you no good to—_

Hermione bumped into a tall, sandy haired boy.

"Sorry!" he said apologetically. "Didn't see you there! You're the new girl aren't you? Ginger?"

"Granger," she corrected, "Hermione Granger."

"Brock Miller," he said, shaking her hand. "We're in the same group."

They joined Riddle and Dorcas Meadowes at their table.

"Tom!" Brock said, clapping his hand on Riddle's shoulder as they sat, "brought your girlfriend with me!"

The whole class was silent as both Riddle and Hermione froze. A muscle twitched so discreetly in Riddle's cheek that she doubted anyone else had noticed it.

"I don't have a girlfriend Brock, as you very well know," Riddle said carefully. "Shall we get to work?"

Hermione could see Phobos Malfoy snickering out of the corner of her eye, and Ethelinda Higgs staring in her unnerving way.

"Should we start with the language or the hiding places?" Dorcas Meadowes broke in. "I think at least half of the trick to this assignment is making our clues difficult enough so the other teams aren't able to figure it out before we figure out theirs."

Hermione nodded. "I agree, and we need to hide them in very unlikely places."

"Any ideas as to where?" Brock asked, mainly directing the question at Dorcas and Riddle.

They all shook their heads.

"We should spend this class thinking up the language," Riddle suggested, "then tonight we can go explore the castle for good hiding spots."

"Good plan, Tom," Dorcas said, "but we can't do it tonight. I have Quidditch practice, I play Keeper for Ravenclaw, you know."

Riddle rolled his eyes and snorted "Quidditch" in a revolted sort of manner.

Hermione was far more revolted by the fact that she agreed with him.

"Fine, what about tomorrow night?" he offered instead.

"Quidditch," Brock the Hufflepuff said apologetically.

Riddle opened and closed his mouth soundlessly for a few seconds, before he turned to Hermione. "I would _now _suggest _Wednesday_ night," he said, a layer of fury well hidden (if you hadn't been looking for it, as Hermione was) lacing his voice, "but I assume _you _have Quidditch practice then?"

"Not likely," Hermione sniffed, "the Gryffindor Quidditch team can't possibly be that hard up for a player. Why…" she paused to laugh a little, "the last time Harry and Ron got me on a broom—" The three members of her group turned to stare at her as the sudden silence prolonged. "Well let's just say it was rather embarrassing," she lied, forcing another laugh.

"So Wednesday night?" Brock queried. "Eight o'clock in front of the Great Hall good?"

The rest of them agreed as Hermione silently cursed herself. Why did she keep acting so stupid? The sooner this horrible day was over the better.

* * *

"You bushy headed _bitch_," a book whispered furiously at Hermione from the Potions section of the library.

She looked at it curiously. Sure, it was ancient, so ancient one sneeze might do it in, sending the pages splintering into millions of dust particles for Madam Pince to sweep up, but it didn't _look_ dangerous, it was in fact, a copy of Magical Drafts and Potions. She picked it up off the shelf, wondering if it was enchanted in some way, when she saw a pair of eyes maliciously glaring at her from the hole the absent book had made.

"Bushy headed _bitch_," the owner of the eyes repeated venomously. A few giggles came from either side of Venomous Eyes.

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes sky (or to be more accurate, ceiling) ward. She was having unpleasant Viktor Krum flashbacks.

"Stupid, ugly, bushy-headed—"

"Now really, _enough_," Hermione snapped, her eyes also snapping back to Venom Eyes. "That's not even particularly clever, you know," she said conversationally. "I've certainly heard better. Or worse, I suppose," she corrected thoughtfully. Venom Eyes was turning into Bewildered Eyes. "At the very least call me a filthy know-it-all," she instructed. "Now," she continued to Bewildered Eyes, who was now moving rapidly to Gobsmacked Eyes, "I know you hate me cause of Riddle. But think about that for a moment, would you? That doesn't even make sense. Riddle's not even interested in me, one; I'm certainly not interested in him, two; I have a boyfriend, three; and you hating me because I have a boyfriend and didn't choose Riddle makes not a smidgen of sense, as you would hate me even more if I did date Riddle, so I figure the only way you wouldn't hate me is to have him be not friendly to me at all and to be madly in love with yourself which frankly, I have no control over whatsoever. Oh, four," she added absentmindedly.

Dead silence greeted this monologue, and Gobsmacked Eyes had been joined by Disbelieving Eyes on the left and Dumsquizzled Eyes on the right. Hermione raised an eyebrow as the silence went on.

"Ugly, stupid, _crazy_, bushy-headed bitch!" Venomous/Bewildered/Gobsmacked Eyes recovered.

Shrill giggles greeted this again and a muffled cry of "Good one, Jane!" could be heard.

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes upward again. "Right then, carry on," she said, and shoved the Potions book back into place.

Riddle. Always blasted Riddle, with his nauseating good looks and obnoxiously, perfectly_ fake_ demeanor. _He was going to pay for this._


	17. The Best Laid Plans

Chapter Sixteen: The Best Laid Plans…

**Author Notes: **I will be (hopefully later today) updating my personal forums with detailed summaries of every chapter for those of you who need refreshers (which should be almost everybody, due to my horrible updating.) I tried to respond to the reviews left to me, and I will finish replying after I post this chapter. For those of you who are not officially registered, I can't really respond to your comments, but I would like to! So go register! It's painless! My forms also have info on who has been killed, who they were killed by, who is in what organization, who is in the past…etc. Find it here. /topic/3090/372507/1/ Reviews are always more than welcome!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: The Best Laid Plans…**

**Library**

**Monday, September 14****th****, 1943**

Hermione heard a fresh bout of giggling and angry whispering as Madam Pince stamped her pile of books and she looked around wearily. Yes, there was Venom Eyes, she would recognize her anywhere, standing with a group of six or so triumphantly moronic girls. _Well,_ Hermione thought as she looked at the girls' uniforms_, I suppose I should be happy that their hatred of me has promoted inter-house unity, _before she remembered that there wasn't really anything wrong with inter-house unity in Riddle's time. No, he would cause that later on.

She unknowingly made a sour face that was identical to the one on Madam Pince's visage and hefted her books in her arms. She shot one last contemptuous look at Tom's Tarts before they passed out of sight and then a book in the restricted section caught her eye. The Deadly Perils of Time Travel, by Hizzard Hugenout. Shifting her books to one arm, the pile wobbling dangerously, she reached out with her free hand. The book suddenly popped off the shelf and onto her stack, propelled by a pale hand with long fingers. Hermione turned, almost biting her tongue in half in her attempt not to scream, and came face to face with Tom Bloody Riddle. He looked incredibly peculiar; he was hunched halfway over and he had a wild, almost hunted look about his eyes.

"Are they gone?" he whispered, sounding half broken.

"Tom's Tarts?" Hermione asked in a whisper of her own after she had gotten a bit over the shock.

"Tom's _what_?" he asked her incredulously, some of the hunted look being replaced by surprise.

"Tom's—never mind," Hermione said hastily. _Was it possible he didn't know about them?_ She thought, flabbergasted.

It _wasn't_ possible, of course. Tom knew all about his Tarts, had ever since their first meeting which consisted mainly of the Tarts waxing rhapsodic about what was the most handsome part of him (this had descended into a hair pulling brawl between Jane Landy, who maintained that his eyes were his best feature, and Isabelle Martin, who insisted it was his mouth) but he thought it most prudent to pretend like he had no idea he had a following of giggling, crazed girls who fancied themselves in love with him. They might come in handy one day, after all.

"Erm, the giggling girls?" Hermione ventured instead.

"Yes," he whispered back harshly, a bit panicked sounding, his eyes looking frantically around, "them. Are they gone yet? I've been hiding in this section for over an hour."

Hermione snorted. She couldn't help herself. The visual of the future Dark Lord cowering from a bunch of pre-teen and teen girls was just too priceless.

"You should have escaped while they were busy tormenting me," she said.

Riddle's eyes flew back to her, his brow furrowing. "They were tormenting you?" he said, his voice low but no longer a whisper.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Hermione assured him hurriedly.

"Still," he said, peering between a gap in the books, searching for crazed Tarts, "this has really gotten out of hand."

"I'll say," Hermione agreed, "I don't know how these absurd lies started in the first place."

"Nor do I," Tom agreed, who most definitely did, and who most definitely was going to make that person pay if he couldn't twist this to his advantage.

"As if I would ever date _you_," Hermione said without thinking.

Riddle looked vaguely hurt.

"Um…I mean…that wasn't what I meant," she amended hastily, before managing to stutter out "boyfriend…didn't mean…not that there's anything wrong with you," before mercifully shutting herself up.

"No harm taken," Riddle said, waving his hand negligently. He was smiling with his eyes as well as his mouth again. It was really rather spooky.

"Well…see you around," she said, mortified, before bolting.

As soon as the bushy headed pain left the library Tom straightened up from his half crouch, the hunted look being replaced by a cold, thoughtful expression. Yes, he had been right. She was really not interested in him at all. It was written all over her face, it was in the way she had cringed away from him, the way she had carefully avoided touching the book he had placed on her pile, in her eyes, in her voice. It was utterly baffling. A girl, a _new_ girl for Salazar's sake, a plain girl whom he had turned the charm on for, a girl he had allowed the rumors to spread for, a girl whom he had led to believe he fancied her, _was not interested in him._ Worse, she seemed _repulsed_ by him. Tom Riddle did not consider himself to be an egomaniac. Facts were facts was all, and the _fact_ was that girls _loved_ him; girls fell at his feet. Girls swooned over a borrowed quill, a smile, a look. (There were quite a few boys who reacted this way to him too, if he was being honest.) It was just a _fact._ Of course, you got a cold fish like Minerva McGonagall (the Head Girl from the year before) or Marion Hinsley, or you got a crazy pureblooded maniac like Ethelinda Higgs or Estelle Black, but you just _didn't _get a seemingly normal girl who was not his to command if he wished. A girl who barely even knew his false persona yet was repulsed and yes, even a little afraid of him. It was curious. Most curious. And one of the thoughts Hermione Granger and Tom Riddle shared (though neither was aware of it) was that "curiosity killed the cat" was a load of dung bombs. Curiosity didn't kill _anybody_. They were proof of that.

* * *

**Sixth Floor Corridor**

**1:00 A.M.**

Marion Hinsley and Igneus Malfoy were patrolling the corridors in silence. It wasn't silence of Igneus' doing, but rather Marion's, who had seemed lost in thought all night. She hadn't even cracked a smile when they stumbled upon two Hufflepuffs engaged in entirely inappropriate acts, and Igneus knew doling out punishment was Marion Hinsley's absolute favorite thing to do. It was most certainly not _Igneus'_ favorite thing to do, especially when it involved his little sister and Estelle Black, straight ahead in the corridor after hours. Never mind the fact that Audrey was a prefect for Slytherin's fifth years, it wasn't her night to patrol and she knew it. And it certainly didn't help that she was hanging out with the revolting Estelle Black _again._

_Mother will be so pleased_, Igneus thought sourly. She was always encouraging him to make friends with the various members of the Black family to enhance the Malfoy family social standing, with a stunning lack of success.

He looked sideways at Marion, who seemed oblivious that there were rule breakers waiting to be punished up ahead. He wavered a moment, his brisk steps faltering. Marion didn't seem to care, he could just let Audrey go and save himself a lot of trouble…but no. That was the Malfoy way of thinking, always doing what served your own best interest, not doing what was _right. _Igneus might carry the name of Malfoy, but as far as he was concerned, this meant less than nothing. He couldn't help who he was born to, could he? He was Igneus Adrastos Malfoy, he was Head Boy, he was a _Ravenclaw_. He would do what was right. And with that comforting thought, Igneus' bounce in his step sprang back, and a whistle came to his lips.

_He would do what was right.

* * *

_

**Sixth Floor Corridor**

**1:08 A.M.**

"I cannot _fathom_ the nerve of that blood traitor brother of yours, Audrey," Estelle Black fumed. "Are you sure he wasn't adopted? Dropped repeatedly on his head as a child?"

"Quite sure," Audrey drawled, "and I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head Black, that is my brother you are talking about."

"I would think such a brother would be gladly removed by the family," Estelle said coldly, bristling at the younger girl's audacity.

The Malfoys might be pureblooded, but they were jumped up new money, barely three centuries ago Eadberht Malfoy had made his fortune, and the Blacks had been as good as Wizarding royalty for over a thousand years. The girl needed to learn her place.

"Why, if I ever had the misfortune to have a brother like that, I would have him disowned immediately," Estelle continued, punctuating this with an affected, phony titter of laughter.

"And yet my horrible, blood traitor disgrace of a brother managed to get Head Boy, and yours wasn't even made a prefect," Audrey said cuttingly, furious at Igneus for forcing her to defend him to this unmitigated snob.

Estelle Black rewarded Audrey with an angry flush suffusing her face, a red stain spreading further up from her neck to her cheeks. It was common knowledge that Patrick Black had been punished severely every time the owl post came to the Black house with a schoolbook list and no badge every year since his fifth year. It had been worst of all this year, when no miracle came and deposited a Head Boy badge into Patrick Black's hands. Estelle Black drew herself up to her full, considerable height, all the better to look down her nose at Audrey Malfoy with.

"So you have one Head Boy in the family," she sneered, "charming. Try having seven Head Boys, three Head Girls, twenty-four prefects and a Headmaster, then attempt to compete with my family, little girl."

"Phineas Nigellus?" Audrey scoffed. "The most hated Headmaster in the history of Hogwarts? I can see how he's _such_ a credit to the Black family name. And when was the last one of these twenty-four prefects, anyway? I don't see a badge on your robes," Audrey rubbed it in further by indicating her own badge.

"What about your precious cousins?" Estelle snarled, her complexion now moving on to a lovely shade of eggplant. "I don't see Phobos or Dougal with a badge."

"They are _sixth years_," Audrey explained, as if to someone remarkably slow. "They're up against _Riddle_. He's inhuman."

"Filthy, half-blooded Mudblood lover," Estelle said almost automatically upon hearing the "R" word.

Audrey laughed. "Too right you are, Estelle. How that…_boy _ever made it into Slytherin at all is beyond me."

The girls laughed again and smiled at each other, and all was forgiven. Riddle had a knack of bringing people together that way, Estelle thought.

"I can't _**believe**_your poor brother has to marry Ethelinda Higgs," Audrey said, switching tracks.

Estelle made a face. "She's not that bad. Patrick doesn't really mind, so long as she is a pureblood and pretty."

"Yeah, but she's insane," Audrey said disparagingly, and the two girls laughed again.

"I suppose," Estelle said, who was, after all, a member of the unofficially named Slytherin Snob Squad with Ethelinda, "but she sure is better than that Belinda Harp—"

"Is there a problem here ladies?" a sweet voice cut in from behind them.

They spun around to encounter the diminuitive red haired form of Belinda Harper standing in the corridor behind them, clearly having overheard every word they had just spoken.

"I heard raised voices."

"No problem," Estelle said, raising her eyebrows into peaks. "We're off to the common room."

"It's not your night to patrol, Audrey," Belinda said abruptly.

"It's not _yours_ either," Audrey shot back.

"I switched nights with Dorcas Meadows," Belinda replied, her own eyebrows now arched. "Run off to bed now before I have to dock points from my own house."

"Too late, Harper," Estelle said rudely, "we've already gotten detention from her brother."

"From Igneus?" Belinda said, sounding pleased. "Oh, well if you were already reprimanded once and you are still out of bed I'm afraid that's a worse offense than I originally realized, ladies. Five points apiece, and run along before I have to take more."

Both of the other Slytherin girls looked to be restraining themselves with great difficultly (Estelle was refraining from reminding Belinda that she knew where she slept, and Audrey was biting back a retort about how Belinda was never going to be Head Girl, so she might as well stop acting like it) before Audrey grabbed Estelle by the arm and dragged her away. Both of them threw their best looks of comtemptous loathing back at Belinda, which, considering she had just successfully ordered them around and punished them, were less than threatening.

"Forget Riddle and bollocks to your brother" Estelle hissed once they rounded the corner. "If anyone needs to be taught a lesson, it's Belinda Harper. Riddle at least is nice to everyone, as revolting as that is."

"Riddle never would have been so rude to us," Audrey agreed. "He especially wouldn't have docked us points when we were CLEARLY already going back to the common room," she fumed.

"And your brother, at least he sounded like he felt bad," Estelle continued, her nostrils flaring. "At least your brother has the proper respect. Just a 'sorry to do this ladies, but you know you shouldn't be out at this hour' and then he's on his way after giving us detention."

"It's barely detention," Audrey declared loyally, still angry as well. "I mean…brushing unicorns with Hagrid and Ogg? I can think of worse things to do."

"Definitely," Estelle agreed, who seemed to have fully forgotten her anger at both Malfoy siblings for her new target of scorn. "Even _Marion Hinsley_ was nice about it, and you know she has a permanent stick lodged up her bum."

"_Estelle_!" Audrey said with a giggle, scandalized and delighted.

"But Belinda Harper," Estelle continued, encouraged by her companion's satisfactory reactions, "she's something else altogether. Seems so nice, doesn't she? The teachers love her, the rest of the school loves her…but we Slytherins know better. Why, she wouldn't spit on us if we were on fire. She'd just laugh and tell us she was SO sorry, but it was our own fault, after all, and if we didn't stop charbroiling in the corridor and making a mess, she would be forced to dock points."

Audrey giggled still harder.

Thoroughly warmed up to her subject matter, Estelle was entirely unaware of her surroundings as she ranted still further, called Belinda a number of names that further shocked and delighted Audrey, who was almost unable to walk due to her manic giggling, and gesticulated wildly while describing Belinda's "ugly horse-face" (an insult that was entirely untrue.)

It was no surprise then, that the two girls were completely unprepared for what was coming towards them through an adjacent, rarely used passage.

"And her arse," Estelle half-shreiked, her auburn hair glowing as if it were on fire in the torchlight, her cheeks flamed with red, "it's so BIG."

Audrey's eyes were flooding with tears and her giggles were now so out of control that they were silent.

"I mean," Estelle waved an arm wildly, "if MY arse were that big, I would cast an unforgivable on _myself_, just to put me out of my mis—"

A loud hissing noise was heard, and the two girls disappeared as if there were never there.

* * *

**Monday, September 14****th****, 1943**

**11:45 P.M.**

The hooded figures were again chanting in their places at the edge of the blood painted septagram, with the exception of two; one male, one female, who stood outside the group and near one of the torches flaming blue nearby on the stone wall.

"I would think you would be more worried," the male said reproachfully.

"You cannot possibly think he is more powerful than our Lord," the female sneered. "Or do you? I would be happy to pass along the message to our master. I'm sure he would be thrilled to learn that you think a foolish do-gooder holds more sway than he does."

"That won't be necessary," the male said hastily, "although I of course appreciate your dedication to rooting out the disbelievers and the disloyal."

"As you should."

"I am worried however, that you are focusing your energy on suspecting the wrong person."

"I was not aware that there was anyone to be suspected."

"Oh no?" The male said, his raised eyebrows barely visible beneath the black hood. "I've long suspected a traitor in our midst."

"And what basis do you have for that accusation?"

The male looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Oh I see," the female said, giving a little laugh, "no basis at all."

"Just a hunch," the male muttered.

"A hunch," she sneered, "how utterly convincing."

In the background the chanting was slowly raising in volume, the candles started glowing blue and purple.

"I have good news for you, my worrisome friend. No need to stress over hunches, or over meddlesome fools interfering with our master's plans."

The male shifted in surprise. "What do you know that I don't?" he asked angrily.

"I only know what our Lord wants me to know," she said, more than a little smug.

"Which is?" the male asked with barely restrained fury.

"Which is that our dear meddlesome do-gooder will be sent a message. He won't be a problem anymore."

"What kind of message?" the male asked eagerly.

"A clear one. A convincing one."

"And you think a message enough to stop him?"

"I know it to be enough."

The chanting ceased abruptly, the candles blew out simultaneously, as if by a giant blowing out his birthday cake, and the septagram lit up like it was a thousand tiny bright red lights. In the eerie red glow of the room an object that had materialized from thin air could be seen clearly, slowly rotating in the middle of the septagram. A black, scaly thing with red markings sinuously revolved in place, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. The circle watched it, mesmerized.

"I know it to be enough," the female figure repeated softly, her eyes gleaming bright beneath her raised hood.


	18. Unraveled

**Disclaimer: **Bibbity Bobbity Boo, I don't own Harry Potter, and neither do you!

**A/N: **So basically, I'm going to stop promising updates since it means absolutely nothing when it comes to shaming me to update sooner. I have part of chapter eighteen written, and that's all I'll say. I really only enjoyed one part of this chapter, and I'm sure you can guess which part. However, all the exposition and less fun interactions are important, and setting things up, etc. I promise more Riddle/Hermione action soon.

**Chapter Seventeen: ****Unraveled**

**Tuesday, November 10, 1996**

"We need more brooms," Katie said, casting a critical eye around the Quidditch pitch.

Oliver Wood, who had just spent the last fifteen minutes dragging all the school brooms out for inspection with her, grimaced.

"How many students d'you think own their own?"

"Maybe we should be asking how many of the students who died owned their own," Katie replied quietly. She expected Oliver to look shocked or horrified, most likely both, at her implied suggestion, but he instead looked thoughtful.

"But would their families give them away? Or would they want to keep them to remember them by?"

"That's another thing Oliver, what about the families? Not just the wizard families, but the Muggle families hiding here as well?"

"Professor Lupin's plan is flawed, I agree."

"Where are they even going to go on broomsticks?" Katie persisted.

"Presumably safe spots will be set up," Oliver offered weakly, a crease appearing between his brows.

"Safe like Hogwarts and Hogsmeade are supposed to be safe?" Katie demanded.

"Katie, why are you interrogating me?" Oliver exploded. "I didn't make the plan, I'm just trying to help by following orders. I shouldn't even have asked you to help me," Oliver said, clenching his jaw while looking in the distance, "you should be in class."

There was silence for a moment while Katie fiddled with the twigs on the end of a Silver Arrow.

"Sorry Oliver," she finally said softly. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I just…saw all the girls I went to class with die, the girls I went to meals with, slept with, talked to…I don't have much faith in The Order's plans at the moment."

Oliver nodded, and fiddled with the seat of another broom. They were fiddlers, Katie thought wryly, unable to communicate properly without fondling brooms.

"We should be able to cast charms to make these seat at least three," Oliver said abruptly. "And I have at least five brooms from Puddlemere United that I can donate. Are you still sleeping in the Sixth year boys' dorm without Hermione there? We can talk to Lupin about where the brooms can fly to and Hagrid has thestrals for the Muggles, so all of our concerns can be answered. Not to mention I'm certain there will be portkeys," He paused for breath after spewing that rapid fire analysis of their situation, and pulled out his wand, thoughtfully tapping it against the broom seat.

"I'm sorry, what?" Katie blurted.

Oliver looked up. "Oh, I suggested trust in Professor Lupin, and-"

"No no no," Katie hastily interrupted, "what is this about me sleeping in the boys' dorm?"

"Ah," Oliver said, looking sideways at nothing. "I was just…curious." He fidgeted slightly. "Concerned, if you will."

"Concerned about what?" Katie asked, exasperated. _What the hell was he trying to say?_

"I mean, four sixth years wouldn't be very helpful if you were attacked, even if one of them is Harry Potter."

Katie was shocked into silence by this ludicrous viewpoint. It was, after all, _Harry Potter._ He had bested Lord Voldemort how many times?! As she continued to stare and not speak, Oliver squirmed more than plowed on.

"I mean, you'd be much safer, for instance, nearer a professor."

"Like Snape?!" Katie demanded, horrified. "He'd probably kill me himself!"

"No I meant…" Oliver looked supremely uncomfortable, and muttered "Bollocks" under his breath before plowing onwards. "Like me, you moron!" Oliver half yelled, while his eyes snapped back to her.

Katie turned red. Oliver turned red. Both cursed the sun for exposing their redness.

"_Professor Wood_," Katie delicately emphasized, "I'm quite sure that would get you fired."

"I'm quite sure Lupin has more important things to worry about," Oliver said, his eyebrows raised. "And I think you are taking this the wrong way, Katie, I'd be perfectly well behaved."

Katie looked horrified. "You _**better **_not be!" she fairly yelled.

********************

"Dueling," said Professor Snape in his commanding pseudo whisper, "is the exact art of precisely defending yourself against an armed and dangerous opponent."

He stalked back and forth, his robes billowing dramatically, as the entirety of the Hogwarts students left listened to him raptly.

"It is not merely silly wand-waving and the intoning of a few spells," he said ominously, staring at some first years so darkly they almost cried. "I can teach you to hex your way to fame, jinx to glory, and even counter-curse death," he said impressively.

More than a few students had eyes threatening to bug clear out of their heads. Snape stepped forward to deliver his masterful punch line, eyeing the crowd with disdain.

"That is," he sneered, "if you aren't as big of a group of dunderheads that I normally have to tea—"

"Speak up a bit there, Snape!" a belligerent voice cut in. "It doesn't have quite the same effect when the ones in the back can't hear you. Also, you really need to get some new material mate, don't just play Mad Libs with your potions speech."

Snape turned, prodigious nostrils flared and eyes flashing death. "Mr. Potter," he hissed, for it was indeed The Boy Wonder, reclining on the back two legs of a wooden chair, hands behind his head, who had interrupted. "I do not recall asking for your _juvenile_ and thoroughly _arrogant _and _incorrect _opinion."

Snape stalked across the table erected for the two of them to teach their dueling lessons from, where Harry was dangerously close to falling off of the edge.

"How like your father you are, Potter," Snape said softly and cuttingly, "so cocky with your admirers, showing no respect to your betters, always—"

"Blah blah blah, second verse, same as the first, Professor Bat Complex," Harry bratted while rolling his eyes. "You left out the part about me being a celebrity though, that's my favorite insult. You're really slipping. Too many 'Crucios' cast by the Dark Lord Overcompensator getting to you?"

Snape furiously whipped out his wand, which was not at all a prime example of two insecure males battling with phallic symbols.

"You. Me. Duel. Now," he hissed.

Harry hissed back.

"That means 'you have a face like a donkey' in Parseltongue," he confided with a smile.

Snape roared, waving his wand wildly and not even giving Harry a chance to stand. Harry lazily cast 'Protego' and sent Snape flying onto his ass.  
"And that, kids," Harry said loudly, "is how you catch your weak-minded opponents off guard by using emotional manipulation to enrage them!"

He received wild applause, until Snape sprang up and continued their duel from Harry's spot in his lurching chair.

"Potter's gotten a bit out of control, hasn't he?" Millicent Bulstrode said mildly to Blaise from their position on the peripheral of the crowd.

"_Gotten? A__** bit**_?" Blaise said icily. He was still angry in regards to his earlier conversation about Hermione with Potter.

"Oh, don't be such a whiner," Crabbe said through a mouthful of chocolate mousse, "you're starting to sound like Professor Snape."

"Since when do you talk?" Blaise demanded angrily, and somewhat incredulously.

"**Now** you sound like Potter," Millicent said, and Crabbe nodded.

Blaise seethed in outrage. Did _no one_ understand his pain?

"Ohhhh Blaise!" A fifth year Ravenclaw trilled, coming over to them, her skirt noticeably shorter than it should have been, "I just wanted to say I'm _**so **_sorry about Grang-"

"_Will you bugger off_!" Blaise roared, causing the people around them to jump, and unknowingly echoing another, older, conversation to do with Hermione.

"Charming Blaise, really charming," Byron Smith drawled from next to him.

"Go Harry!" a loud contingent of Gryffindors cheered, amidst the sweating and grunting and other things that could be easily misinterpreted from this description coming from Snape and Harry.

"Should we cheer for Professor Snape?" Millicent asked idly of all the Slytherins around her.

"I suppose," Edith Lodgeman shrugged.

A few of them let out a half-hearted cheer when Snape caused tentacles to sprout from Potter's face.

"Red card, red card!" Dean Thomas yelled incoherently. Seamus Finnigan rolled his eyes next to Dean.

"Seriously Blaise," Millicent said, "you need to deal with this Granger sulk of yours." Ernie MacMillan, who was a full head shorter than Millicent, nodded from his spot next to her—the only non Slytherin around due to his Slytherin by dating association status. "You're becoming as unbearable as Potter."

"I would say as unbearable as Malfoy," Ernie interjected loyally.

Before Blaise could furiously defend his thoroughly _**un**_ Malfoy/Potter like behavior, thankyouverymuch, he was interrupted by Snape shrieking "Sod it!" while throwing his wand aside, and charging toward a startled Potter, shoving his already unstable and tilted chair backward and knocking Harry ass over teakettle off the table.

In the brief silence, a loud 'BAM' could be heard when Harry fell the three feet to the floor and hit the ground, followed by a primal scream of victory from Snape. After a few moments recollecting himself, Snape swung around to face the open mouthed crowd, smacking himself in the eye with his own oily hair.

"And that," said Snape, returning to his former silky but deadly tones, "is how you catch your opponent off guard because he is a complete dunderhead."

He took another moment to relish his victory, before Harry's wildly out of place hair attached to his head popped into view, and, baring his teeth, bit Snape's calf venomously.

Listening to Snape's howls of pain and fury, the crowd of students was far more disturbed not by the fact that their boy hero had gone feral, but rather that someone was willingly touching Snape with their mouth.

*********************

**Tuesday, September 15, 1943**

Hermione would be taking more studious notes if Binns, live version, had not been giving the exact same lecture he had just given fifty years in the future. She was taking decent notes to keep up appearances, however, it was not as if any of her fellow Gryffindors would notice. Brigette was struggling to understand through her limited English, and Marion was sitting in the front row, middle seat, back straight and lips in a prim line as she took copious notes. Something about Marion's face when she made that expression struck Hermione as familiar, but she just couldn't—

"Oi, Granger!" Wyatt Corsington hissed none too quietly from her left diagonal.

Luckily, Binns was impervious to noise as usual. Three quarters of the class slept on, undisturbed. Whoever's bright idea it had been to have History of Magic first thing in the morning…Hermione looked back at Wyatt and cocked an eyebrow.

"Did you hear about Estelle Black?"

"Can't say I care to," Hermione sniffed.

"She disappeared. Estelle and Audrey Malfoy."

Hermione gaped in shock a moment, before the bell signaling the end of class snapped her out of it. As the rest of the students gathered up their belongings and left, Hermione made her way over to Wyatt.

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Well…" Wyatt started, than paused. "Do you have a minute?"

"We've quite a few, before Potions," Hermione reminded him impatiently.

"Right, right, but I didn't know if you were going to meet Riddle or something."

They made their way into the hallway, where a group of Wyatt's friends were waiting, and Marion Hinsley was dawdling. Odd, Hermione thought briefly before shoving it away as unimportant.

"Oi, Wyatt!" Henry Johns called. "You coming?"

Way flapped a hand at them impatiently. "Go on now, I need to talk to Hermione."

The Gryffindor boys shrugged before moving on, Marion moving as well, although suspiciously reluctantly, Hermione observed.

"Well," Wyatt began, as soon as the other group rounded the corner out of sight, "Last night they were out of their beds late, wandering the corridor, and they run into Marion and Igneus Malfoy patrolling. Audrey isn't patrolling that night, and Estelle isn't even a prefect, so of course Marion and Igneus have to give them detention." Wyatt paused until the silent Grey Lady floated past them and out of earshot. "So Marion and Igneus go on their merry way, and no one sees Estelle or Audrey since. No sign of them anywhere."

So that's why Marion had been hovering, Hermione thought. She wanted to heart what Wyatt was going to say.

"Do you think Rid…who do you think it was?" Hermione asked, her voice lowered.

"Well everyone's saying it must be Grindewald, but that's impossible," Wyatt scoffed. "No one can penetrate Hogwart's defenses."

No one except The Artist Formerly Known as Riddle, aka Voldemort, Hermione thought sourly. He can penetrate Hogwart's defenses just fine. There was a mystery, though—why would Riddle do something to two Slytherin's who were probably his followers?_ But were they his followers, Hermione? _That blasted inner judgmental voice piped up._ Or did you just assume they were, because of their names? Does that make you any better than them? Are you founding the Gryffindor Snob Squad? What about your dear friend Igneus, isn't he a Malfoy? Isn't Blaise a Slytherin?_ This triggered a thought which shut up the hateful internal voice temporarily.

"Oh no," Hermione exclaimed aloud to Wyatt, "poor Igneus!"

***************************

"What is Wyatt doing chatting up Granger, doesn't he know she's with Riddle?" Henry Jones asked Leonard Richmond.

Marion Hinsley rolled her eyes from her position a few feet up in the corridor. Wasn't it patently _obvious_ that Riddle and Granger couldn't stand each other? It was, quite frankly, Granger's best personality trait. Granger was so clearly suspicious of Riddle, so clearly harboring a strong dislike of him, and Riddle so clearly had no more interest for Granger than a bug in a Petri dish he was studying.

"She's a bit ugly for Wyatt, isn't she?" Leonard asked disparagingly.

Marion was torn between silent indignation at the superficiality and an obnoxious urge to nod and agree.

"She may not be the prettiest, but I'd taker her any day over some of those other girls," Henry disagreed. "At least she doesn't take anything from other people when she shouldn't."  
"Quite brainy too," Leonard said admiringly.

Again Marion was simultaneously infuriated and vindicated. Was she also not the prettiest, but brainy and unwilling to take anything from other people? Where was her flock of delusional admirers? Where, most importantly, was Granger last night when two of her biggest thorns in her side had gone missing? According to Evelyn, she certainly wasn't in bed. And in Marion's opinion, whatever had happened to those girls had been perpetuated by a wizard. Or, more likely, a witch.

*********************

**Two Hours Earlier**

"Thank you for awakening so early for this very important meeting," Professor Merrythought, the last teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts before a certain curse was placed, said.

"I know you are wondering what is so essential to get you out of bed before the sun," Professor Dumbledore said, with only a hint of the customary eye twinkle, "but I think we should wait until everyone arrives before we begin. I see Mr. Malfoy has yet to join us."

Tom Riddle looked around at the prefects around him, at Head Girl June Whitmore of Hufflepuff, and seeing something amiss, raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Riddle?" Professor Dumbledore inquired politely.

No twinkle anymore. Couldn't get _that _past me, you bullying, wardrobe combusting ogre, Tom thought nastily. His face, of course, remained pleasantly inquisitive.

"I was just wishing to point out that Miss Malfoy is also not here," he said helpfully.

Inexplicably, the Professors flinched.

"Yes, well…" Dumbledore trailed off uncomfortably.

Marion Hinsley began to feel a little ill. Igneus wasn't here. Audrey wasn't here. Audrey and Igneus had argued last night. The Professors looked upset. Granger had been out of bed last night. The Prefects had been summoned out of bed with no explanation at the crack of dawn. Things were adding up, in an unpleasant manner. Suddenly Igneus rushed in, disheveled.

"So sorry, Professors!" he cried dramatically, as was his wont. "I'm afraid the hordes of females clamoring for a scrap of my attention detained me. But not to worry, after many tears, and hugs, and promises of epic love poems and flowers, I was able to escape their grasping clutches and-"

"Mr. Malfoy, please sit down and be quiet!" Professor Merrythought said a little shrilly.

A little_ hysterically, _Riddle thought, his eyes narrowing.

Everyone else looked varying degrees of shocked, none more so than Igneus, who had been in the middle of flinging his arms out dramatically to emphasize his point. Abashed, he sat next to Riddle, who had Belinda on his other side. The silence was pin drop worthy. The Professors _loved_ Igneus. It was a tossup who they loved more, the likable Igneus or the perfect Tom.

"I'm…sorry for being abrupt, Igneus dear," Professor Merrythought said, her voice faltering, but offering no further explanation.

"Who was on patrol last night?" Professor Dumbledore broke in.

A show of hands ensued. Professor Dumbledore checked off Igneus's name, Marion's, Dorcas Meadowes—he did a double take and paused.

"Miss Meadowes? It says here that you switched nights with Miss Harper."

"I did, but Quidditch practice was out early, so she didn't end up having to switch with me and patrol after all," Dorcas explained as Belinda nodded. "Is that okay?"

"Oh of course, we just need to know who was in the corridors last night, if anyone saw—" Dumbledore checked himself.

"Where's Audrey?" Igneus questioned suddenly.

"I asked that myself Igneus," Tom murmured with a sanctimonious nod that made Marion want to slap him.

"Is she late?" Igneus continued. "This _and _last night…I might have to owl mother and father."

"What about Audrey last night, Igneus?" Professor Dumbledore asked eagerly, ignoring Riddle yet again.

Igneus looked flabbergasted at Dumbledore's excitement, so Marion jumped in.

"We had to give her detention last night, Professor," she informed him. "Audrey and Estelle Black both. They were in the corridors after hours."

Professors Dumbledore and Merrythought exchanged glances.

"What time was that exactly, Miss Hinsley?" Professor Merrythought demanded.

"And which corridor?" Dumbledore added.

"Around one o'clock, corridor six, I believe," Marion said, glad to be of help, but also having her worst thoughts confirmed more and more.

"Did anyone else see either Miss Malfoy or Miss Black after that time?" Dumbledore demanded. Everyone shook their heads.

"Are you sure?" Professor Merrythought pressed. "This is of the utmost importance."

Still no one spoke.

"No one will get in any trouble," Dumbledore stressed, "if they—"

"Look here, Professor, what is this all about?" Igneus broke in, starting to sound worried. "Did something happen to my sister?"

Tom Riddle studied Dumbledore, his eyes narrowing still further. Belinda remained silent.

"We have no…evidence," Professor Merrythought hedged," of any sort of foul play-"

"Foul play!" Igneus exploded. "Something happened to my sister! Something happened and you aren't telling me! I demand that you tell me immediately," he commanded, and if Hermione had been there she would have recognized Draco Malfoy in Igneus at last. Not that a bit of Malfoy entitlement was amiss here, however.

"I'm afraid," Dumbledore began gently, "I'm afraid, Mr. Malfoy, that Miss Black and your sister Audrey have disappeared."

**End A/N:** Please to be reviewing, K thnx. As always, feel free to check my lj for updates, although I have locked most of it, I keep fic updates unlocked.


	19. Closing in for the Kill

**Author Note:** PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE END DISCLAIMER BEFORE REVIEWING AND FLAMING. Thanks!

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: ****Closing In For the Kill**

**Tuesday, September 15, 1943**

After all the hysterical rantings that had followed the news, Igneus ran out of the prefect room, bellowing something about having to owl his family.

"Professor Dumbledore," Tom said in a rush, "May I find Igneus to be sure he is alright?"

"Please do, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said tiredly.

Tom didn't even have time to think a characteristically mean thought about Dumbledore as he rushed after Igneus. This was just too perfect, and he had to capitalize on it immediately. Where the blazes was Igneus, though? Tom knew he ran fast. It was one of the approximately six million, three-hundred thousand and twenty-nine things in which he excelled, so why couldn't he overcome Igneus if he was going this way to the Owlery? Failure, on any level, annoyed him greatly. He stopped a moment to collect his thoughts. Would Igneus really go to the Owlery? The first thing? Tom knew what he would do in this situation, and he ran off in that direction, and after dashing down a few corridors and up a few flights of stairs he spotted a white blonde head. He was right. Igneus was inspecting where Audrey and Estelle had disappeared…at least the area where they supposedly disappeared. No one knew where they had vanished exactly. Or at least, Igneus didn't know, Tom internally thought.

"Igneus," he said guardedly.

His friend spun around from his position, his wand out, his eyes large and frantic.

"Tom! Tom, thank Rowena you're here, I need your help," he babbled.

Really, Igneus was becoming very upset over a sister that treated him rather abominably, Tom thought in a clinical sort of way. Good.

"You won't find anything, Igneus," he said in a low voice. "You know it must have been Grindelwald. He doesn't leave clues."

"Why the hell would Grindelwald attack Audrey?" Igneus spat, whiplashing from frantic and scared to frantic and furious. His more hospitable personality had been burned out of him.

Tom hesitated. "Have you…heard the rumors?" he asked Igneus slowly.

"Which ones?" Igneus said bleakly, now dovetailing into frantic despair.

"The ones about Grindelwald's lineage," Tom said, eyeing Igneus cautiously. "The ones that say Grindelwald is—"  
"A Muggle lover, yes I've heard them," Igneus said impatiently, running his hands through his hair, over the cracks in the wall, on the floor while he continued in a distracted manner. "That he is working with that Muggle dark lord, and that he hates---" Igneus paused. He looked up at Tom with a blank expression.

"That he hates pure-bloods, and most wizards in general," Tom finished for him softly. "That he wants to rule with the Muggles and only some wizards, and wipe out the rest. 'Malfoy' and 'Black' are two well known pure-blood names, Igneus. It's like I've been trying to tell you."

"Blood supremacy is ridiculous Tom, everyone knows that," Igneus said, before he started checking a tapestry for evidence. "One crazy Muggle lover doesn't change that."

"Oh yes of course," Riddle said, backtracking without Igneus even knowing it. "Quite ridiculous. I just hope Grindelwald doesn't change anyone's mind on the subject."  
Igneus ignored him. He wasn't listening, but Tom was unconcerned. He would be listening soon enough.

*******************************

It seemed like Hermione was in Potions every day, although of course that wasn't true. The torture that was Professor Bower's class was made worse by the presence of Riddle, the entire Slytherin Snob Squad, and now, the missing member of the aforementioned squad, Estelle Black. Hermione obviously didn't like Estelle, she was frankly a stuck-up bitch, but she had one thing going for her, and that was the fact that she seemed to have no love for Tom Riddle. In fact, either the Slytherin Snob Squad were the finest actors around, perhaps even surpassing Riddle, whom Hermione could occasionally read, or they really weren't Riddle's followers. And that, as much as she disliked them, made them her allies. And one of her allies had gone missing. Even if she wasn't a possible ally, Hermione didn't hate Estelle Black. She was unlikable, sure, but she didn't seem…evil. Just full of herself. And surely someone didn't deserve to…disappear and have unimaginable things happen to them, most likely even _die_, just because they were full of themselves.

Everyone was subdued, even Marlene working on their potion next to Hermione. The Malfoy twins looked surprisingly somber. It was their cousin, and they were quite close to Estelle, Hermione reprimanded herself. Just because they were Malfoys didn't mean that they were heartless. Everyone suspected Grindelwald, but Hermione wasn't so sure. Riddle of course, was her number one suspect. Hadn't she just thought about how the Snob Squad were most likely _not_ followers of his? On the other hand, they were pure-bloods. The kind of wizards Riddle was set on being, on protecting. They might not like Riddle now, but they could surely be more easily persuaded to join him in the future than self-righteous Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, or Ravenclaws. Even more puzzling was the missing Audrey Malfoy. She had never expressed a dislike of Riddle, and even though she was clearly not the closest with Igneus, they still were siblings, and Igneus, as nice as he seemed….he still liked Riddle. A lot. Igneus, and by extension, Audrey, could easily be future Death Eaters. That was why, Hermione thought as she chopped up some tarrow root, it made _no sense_ for Riddle to attack them. No sense at all.

Almost as if he had heard her thinking about him, Riddle glanced over from the table he was working at with Belinda Harper at her. He looked somewhat grave, and mostly unreadable. Hermione knew she should look away, but she stared right back at him, until he nodded his head at her a little and went back to chopping his own roots.

Unbeknownst to them, Marion Hinsley had seen the whole exchange from behind them. Her eyes narrowed. What had _that _been about? Her mind worked in overdrive. Granger had been missing from her bed last night, and she and Riddle were suddenly chummy…or at least Granger wasn't sneaking glares at him when she thought no one else was looking. She needed to find out what was going on, and fast. And above all, she had to be careful of Granger. She couldn't be trusted.

***********************

It was night, and Hermione was studying in the library again, just like last night. Thank god she had finally given the slip to Marion Hinsley, who apparently thought she had been following Hermione in an incredibly subtle manner. She needed a few lessons from Slytherins, Hermione thought snidely as she looked blankly at the Ancient Rune alphabet she was supposed to be thinking up for her group project. They surely knew how to sneak up on you. As if to prove this thought beyond a shadow of a doubt, just when she was making some progress—

"Need any help, Miss Granger?" was whispered from behind her. She jumped, and whirled around.

"Tom," she whispered back, "you startled me." THAT was an understatement. Her heart had just performed a Wronski Feint, and was just know returning to a normal speed of flight.

"Sorry," he said, smiling with his teeth glinting and his eyes sparkling.

He really had to stop smiling in such a convincing manner. It was most unnervering, and it was all she could do to keep from breaking out in goose pimples when he did it.

"No harm," she said, trying a smile of her own. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"No," he sighed, melancholy. "I've been trying to comfort Igneus all day, and patrol, and do homework…"

"How is Igneus?" Hermione asked timidly.

Riddle paused a moment, debating. How much to reveal to the odd little pain in the neck…?

"Not good," he said finally. "As one would expect. Grindelwald has the habit of ruining lives."

"So you think it was Grindelwald," Hermione said doubtfully before she could stop herself.

"Who else?" Riddle asked, genuinely looking surprised.

Smooth, Hermione, really smooth, she chastised herself. Why don't you just ask him if he did it while you're at it?

"I…don't know," she admitted reluctantly, "I just thought maybe we shouldn't jump to conclusions."

Tom nodded. "A wise thought, Miss Granger," he said, nodding.

"Hermione," she corrected him, "I thought I told you no 'spinster aunt' type names for me."

He smiled, looking amused. "I wasn't aware a polite address made the addressee a spinster," he said, teasing a bit.

"Only if you use 'Miss' in front of the last name, instead of the first name," Hermione informed him. "If you had said 'Miss Hermione' that would have been odd, but un-spinster. It's like—" what would be a good example…? "It's like the Dashwood sisters in _Sense and Sensibility_," she continued, although she figured Riddle would rather marry Dumbledore than read Muggle fiction. "The eldest sister is the spinster, and she's 'Miss Dashwood', while the younger sisters are 'Miss Marianne' and 'Miss Margaret.'"

"I see," Riddle said slowly. "But if we're going by Austen rules, don't you have to call me Mr. Riddle? Also, shouldn't we be bowing to each other every five seconds? And I'm pretty sure we're not allowed to be alone together," he said, half smiling while he gestured towards the empty library.

"You've read Austen?" Hermione blurted, visions of Dumbledore and Riddle conducting the first dance at their wedding reception prancing through her head. _But which one would wear the dress?_

"Of course," he said simply, "I've told you I was raised by Muggles, didn't I?"

"Ye-" Hermione cut herself off. Oh no. _Had he? _She knew that he had been raised by the Muggles in the orphanage, of course, but she couldn't remember for the life of her whether _**he**_ had told her that or not. He had told her he was an orphan, yes…

Riddle looked at her, slightly puzzled. She had half said yes, than paused. She was behaving highly suspiciously, and there was no way out of it.

"I—maybe," she finally said, "I'm sorry, I can't quite remember with all of the new people around me."

"Understandable," he said, shrugging, "I can't expect you to remember me more than the hordes of boys fighting for your attention."

"What boys?" Hermione demanded. "Have you gone insane, Riddle?" she snapped, unknowingly behaving like the real Hermione to him more than she ever had. "Unless you think Marlene Smith, Brigette Laroque and Marion Hinsley are just incredibly effeminate boys…oh and Evelyn as well," she added as an afterthought.

Tom briefly contemplated how Evelyn had been a last minute addition, displeased. He would have to have another word with her. She was doing an absolutely terrible job making friends with Granger, considering all of her friends already liked her.

"Obviously," he said smiling, in a way that reminded Hermione of someone who she couldn't place, "I did not mean the Gryffindor girls. Igneus, for one, mentions you quite a lot. Wyatt Corsington corners you all the time," he ticked off on his fingers, as Hermione gaped at the fact that Riddle had noticed all this, "Alastor Moody spouts what you say to him like it was gospel, and even those dreadful Malfoy twins seem to stare at you an awful lot."

"How…on Earth did you know all of that?" Hermione asked faintly. Even if his interpretation had been incorrect, it was still disturbingly observant. Oh yes, she had Riddle's attention all right.

He looked at her a moment, intently. Without a trace of a smile, he said slowly, "Maybe I stare at you too."

Hermione almost screamed_. Don't look revolted, don't look revolted_, she chanted to herself, _this is what you were trying to do, get him to be your friend or…other things_ (she barely repressed a shudder) _and now it is working, and most of all, he's clearly lying to you __**right at this very moment**__ and playing some sort of game with you, so don't freak out. Control yourself._

He was still staring at her in that disturbing way, and she was staring back, because she was a deer in the headlights of her own horror, and this was getting incredibly awkward, and she knew now who he had reminded her of a moment before, and it was Blaise, and Blaise had some sort of attraction towards her, inexplicably, and it was all too, too, disturbing.

She forced out a laugh. "Oh, to make sure I'm not getting hexed by your groupies? Very kind of you, since that is your own fault, you know." Godric's gonads, _was she flirting back?_ She almost regurgitated her dinner on Riddle's lap.

"If that's what you want to think," he said, still staring at her, but now with another half-smile.

"Ha ha," she said weakly. "Quite the comedian you are, Riddle. Oh look at the time, I'm off to bed before Marion Hinsley starts stalking me again."

Riddle's entire expression changed, to something ugly and deadly, and just as soon as it was there it was gone, and his fake kind and concerned face was back.

"Has she been bothering you?" he inquired, clearly attempting to keep his voice somewhat under control.

Trying, and failing, Hermione thought, digging her nails into her legs so she didn't react by shuddering. She should not have said that. Marion was annoying, but she didn't deserve to be on Riddle's hit list.

"I think…" Hermione started lamely, before plunging on recklessly, might as well get Marion fully killed why she was at it, "I don't think she trusts me, for some reason."

"Jealousy," Riddle said smoothly, his face clearing. "Very obviously, jealousy. You're smart and people actually like _you, _so of course she hates you."

"I didn't say she hated me," Hermione said uneasily.

"I know," Riddle said, raising his eyebrows. "I said it."

"No, I really think you're wrong, Riddle," she argued more strenuously.

"I believe it's Mr. Riddle, correct?" he needled her charmingly, always charmingly with him, the bastard. "And I'm quite sure I'm correct, Miss Hermione, I don't misread people."

That was a challenge, Hermione thought, and she was a Gryffindor. They stupidly plunged headfirst into reckless challenges, even her.

"Can you read me then?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow. "Or am I too much of an enigma? I would imagine you would know something after all that staring." She smirked. She was becoming a Slytherin with the smirking. Horrors. The only option was death.

"Not as much as I would like to," Riddle said, softly. And he was doing that blasted unnerving stare again. They stared for a few more moments, Riddle clearly thinking. "You miss your friends," he said abruptly. "You miss your family, and you miss wherever it was you came from," Hermione managed not to react at that strange wording. _He couldn't know._ "You strive to prove that you are the best, and you hate unfairness." All obvious, Hermione told herself, stay calm. "You…" Riddle trailed off, paused, eyed her a bit longer, and blurted out the rest after an internal debate, "you have done something horrible in the past, which you will never tell anyone about. Maybe you hurt someone." Hermione went numb, her face going white against her will. He couldn't be doing Legilimens on her. She had learned Occlumency. She was good at it. "You get sad when you look at certain people, but not others. You miss your boyfriend, and you don't like me in the slightest. I'm not sure if the two are related."

Hermione sat, staring at Riddle in horror, motionless. "I don't dislike you," she said through numb lips.

"Oh yes you do," Riddle said, "though I have no idea why. Tell me, what have I done to offend you, Hermione?"

"It is my boyfriend," she said suddenly, cursing herself forever for slipping this info to Marlene and Marion and potentially ruining her whole plan with Riddle, "I miss him quite a lot, and I might never see him again, and I suppose I get irritated when people think you're my boyfriend, when I miss my real boyfriend so much," she said in a rush, looking down. She did miss Blaise. This wasn't a lie. She missed Ron and Harry, too, and she wouldn't miss _any _of them if it hadn't been for the monster sitting in front of her right now. "It's nothing personal, Riddle," she added quickly, looking back up at him. "I'm sure I'll like you fine once everyone stops gossiping." She tried to smile, and failed spectacularly. This was a godawful conversation, a conversation from hell, devised by Old Man Splitfoot himself to torture her. She was bungling things massively with Riddle, perhaps beyond repair, and she was digging herself a hole.

"I understand," Riddle said slowly, "I just hope you can get over that, Miss Granger, " he had switched back to the formal, maybe in response to her calling him Riddle, "I think we could be great friends."

"I…" she stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling like she was going to scream, or try to kill him, or cry, all at once, "I really need to go to bed."

"And here I am keeping you awake like a selfish boor," Riddle said, somewhat glibly. "I'll see you tomorrow, when we meet Brock and Dorcas for our project, Hermione. Perhaps you will be able to stand the sight of me by then."

Dimly registering the change yet again in how he addressed her, Hermione mumbled something, grabbed her book-bag, and ran off, Gryffindor courage shriveled and dead on the floor.

Tom Riddle watched her go. Well, that had gone horribly. The girl still couldn't stand him, and he had no idea why. He had just _come on to her_, for Salazar's sake. He couldn't even remember the last time he had stooped that low, but when he did, it had always worked. It hadn't worked on her, and it wasn't just because of her phantom boyfriend. Oh no, Hermione Granger had skeletons in her closet, and Tom Riddle was going to figure out what they were. He was going to make this strange girl who had appeared out of nowhere, who acted like she hated him on sight, and generally behaved in a suspicious and dangerous manner, open up to him by any means necessary. No matter what it took.

* * *

**A/N:** YES I am aware that Grindelwald's backstory is completely wrong, I read the seventh book. ;o) There is a reason, I promise. I started writing EAP AGES ago, and so it is hopelessly AU after OoTP. I conceived that Grindelwald was going to be like the Anti-Voldemort in ideology (i.e. anti-pureblood) BEFORE the sixth book came out because I thought it would brilliantly explain how Voldemort was able to gain so much power, followers, etc. So I hope that's okay with all of y'all, and you can accept a semi-big change in HP canon…considering I've killed Draco, written BZ/HG, killed Ron and eight thousand other characters, and made Ginny Sooper Cr8zy, I hope this is doable, the Grindelwald change. ;o) (I swear it's related to the plot! I sweeeaaarrrr!)

Also, so sorry for lack of updates, I'm in my last semester of college and am going bonkers from stress. In May-ish I should start churning this mofo out. (And reviews help! And guilt me into writing more, honest!)


	20. Commencing Phase Two

**A/N: This is really, obviously, extremely AU. **

**Chapter 19: Commencing Phase Two**

Hermione hurried back up to the Gryffindor dormitory after her hellish encounter with Riddle, fighting tears the whole way. She muttered the password to the Fat Lady, sped through the common room, ignoring Evelyn Sanders and Marlene, who were calling her over to chat, and practically sprinted up the stairs to the sixth-year girl's dormitory. Hermione rifled feverously through her trunk, pulling out a small wrapped package, and yanked the velvet hangings on her bed shut, spelling them closed and silent. With trembling fingers, she unwrapped the brown paper around a set of four photographs that were charmed to be innocuous views of scenery to anyone that was not her. She stared at the first picture, the tears welling up uncontrollably and unwelcome.

It was a picture of her, Ron, and Harry at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron was wearing the silly shamrock hat, and all three of them were laughing with each other, and waving Irish banners of support. Her hands shaking, Hermione reached up and wiped the tears that were spilling from her eyes, flipping to the next picture, a Muggle shot of her and her parents vacationing in France. Dimly, she registered that someone else had come into the room and was attempting to talk to her through the curtains, but she didn't so much as look up. The third picture was of Harry, Hermione, and the entire Weasley family at the Burrow one summer break. The fourth photograph was the most recent, a snapshot taken without her knowledge by Colin Creevey of Hermione and Blaise. It was the most intimate of all the photographs, since they had not known they were being snapped. Blaise was gazing at Hermione with evident adoration, and kept sneaking kisses on her cheek while Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes, trying to look more annoyed than she actually was. Hermione spread the photographs out on her bedspread to look at them all at once, the tears pouring freely and sobs silently shaking her body, the silencing charm on her hangings masking her distress to her roommates. All the emotions she had been suppressing had chosen this moment to attack.

She was failing at her mission. The whole point of this hellish excursion was to change the past, to change Riddle or neutralize him, to better the world…and she wasn't doing it. She was letting her own feelings on Riddle get in the way of doing her job. Hermione stared at the picture of Ron and Harry. If she had felt she was betraying them by being nice to Riddle, it was nothing to the realization of the betrayal that she _wasn't _being nice to Riddle. Love was supposed to defeat Riddle, Dumbledore had told Harry so. She didn't need to fall in love with the homicidal maniac, but she at least had to make him feel for her the way she felt for Ron and Harry. He needed to care about someone, somewhere, besides himself and his awful, terrible ambitions. It wasn't that she was holding him at arm's length, it was that she was openly disgusted by him, so much so that Riddle knew it.

Hermione wiped at her nose with the sleeve of her robe, past caring about hygiene as she berated herself more for her inadequacies. She had to do this for all of them. Harry, Ron, her parents, Blaise, the Weasleys, Lupin, Katie, Fleur, Wood, Dobby, Hagrid, hell, even Crabbe and Snape. Everyone. She had to do this for everyone. No matter sick it made her, she had to think of Riddle as a person, and not as a person who had murdered Myrtle and his father and grandparents, but as a lonely orphan who had not known friendship, love, or affection throughout his entire existence. She had to give him a chance, or at least fool him into thinking she was giving him a chance. It was the only way for her to make things right.

Hermione stared at the pictures, as Blaise swooped in and gave her another kiss and picture Hermione fake-scoffed at him, an idea forming in her mind. She pulled out her wand, still crying freely, and changed the pictures so others could see their true occupants, instead of scenery. Then, she changed the attire of the people in the pictures so they would look like they belonged in the nineteen forties, instead of the nineteen nineties if anyone but she looked at them. Satisfied with her spell work, Hermione turned and affixed the pictures over her headboard, as a reminder of what she had lost, and what she had to gain by this charade. She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and whirled around as someone else spoke to her through the curtains.

"Ermione?" said the timid and heavily accented voice of Brigette Laroque. "Are you…" she struggled to find the right phrase, "o…kay?"

Hermione realized that the one person in the nineteen forties she was willing to converse with at the moment was Brigette. Brigette, after all, had lost everyone close to her as well. Brigette was an outsider, a stranger in a strange land. Making up her mind, Hermione removed the spells on her hangings and opened them, to see Brigette looking at her with concern.

"No," Hermione admitted huskily, still crying.

Brigette looked at her with sympathy, and with understanding, then sat next to Hermione on her bed, drawing the curtains closed behind her. Hesitantly, she pulled Hermione into a hug, and Hermione sobbed unrestrainedly on her shoulder for all that she had lost.

* * *

**Wednesday, September 16****th****, 1943**

Hermione awoke abruptly the next morning, her throat sore and her nose clogged, her face sticky with dried tears and snot. She sat up, opened her bed hangings, and saw Marion, Marlene, and Evelyn talking in hushed voices. They stopped immediately as they spotted Hermione, Marlene looking anxious, Evelyn sympathetic, and Marion unreadable.

"Hermione dear!" Marlene said, springing forward and hugging her. "We were so worried about you! And Brigette wouldn't tell us a thing about what you two talked about last night! I kept trying to ask you what was wrong last night…" she trailed off, and Hermione realized she had caught sight of the photographs over her bed

Evelyn and Marion walked over, also inspecting the shots. Hermione sighed very slightly, and began attempting to control her hair with a brush on her bedside table. (Inevitably and predictably, she failed miserably.)

"So this is the boyfriend?" Marion unexpectedly asked, pointing to the picture of Hermione and Blaise. "He's rather handsome, isn't he?" she said, shooting a sly, sideways smile at Hermione.

Marlene gasped, shocked almost as much as Hermione was at Marion's shocking departure from stick-up-the-arse-ness. Or at least, that's why Hermione thought she was gasping. It turned out to be for an entirely different reason.

"Oooh, Hermione, he's soooo good looking!" Marlene squealed. "No wonder you won't look twice at Riddle!"

Evelyn laughed hesitantly, and looked closer at the photograph. Apparently, the other three pictures were not as interesting to the girls.

Suddenly, and to her horror, Hermione felt herself verging on tears again.

"Why is it a wizard photograph, Hermione?" Marion asked abruptly, and a trifle suspiciously. "I thought you said he is a Muggle."

Hermione dug her fingernails into her hands, but it was too late, and the tears spilled over again.

"Oh, what's wrong, darling!" Marlene half-shouted, looking distraught. "What did we say?"

"I lied to you all," Hermione choked out, as she put into motion phase one of her plan.

"What do you mean?" Evelyn demanded, watching Hermione closely, as Marlene hugged her close, making sympathetic noises.

"It's…it's Blaise," Hermione said, the sobs threatening to burst out of her again. "I…I lied about him being a Muggle. He…he was a wizard."

"Was?" Marion asked quietly.

"He…I met him in France one summer. But…last year, Grindelwald, the war…" Hermione lost it. It wasn't the truth, but the truth was horrible enough.

"You poor thing," Marlene said, hugging her tighter, her voice hushed. "You don't ever have to talk about it again. Of course we understand why you lied about it. Of course we understand why you were so angry about everyone gossiping about you and Riddle. You poor, dear, sweet darling. I swear I will never mention it again."

"Thank…thank you," Hermione forced out shakily. To her great surprise, Evelyn hugged her as well, and Marion very, very, hesitantly joined in, for once looking something other than cold towards Hermione.

"Do you want a moment alone?" Evelyn asked her kindly, as some of the other girls in their dorm walked past, giving the huddle of hugging girls curious looks.

"I…no," Hermione said, wiping her eyes on her robes. "I think I need a shower, and then…I'd love for you all to walk with me to breakfast."

"Definitely," Marion said firmly. "We'll wait here for you."

"Thanks," Hermione said with a watery smile. Phase one complete, she walked to the bathroom and the stinging hot spray of water to pull herself together enough for phase two.

* * *

**Library Stacks **

**4:15 P.M.**

"Her boyfriend isn't a Muggle," Evelyn hissed at Tom Riddle that afternoon in the library, from their usual hiding spot, the little used Muggle history section.

He sighed, loudly, leaning against the stacks behind him, his eyes rolled up to the ceiling, apparently begging a higher power for patience.

"Evelyn," he whispered, his gaze still pointed up, "I thought we had been over this. Repeatedly. Exhaustively. To the point where if I have to listen to you yammer on, with the presumption that I care at all, _in the slightest,_ about this stupid girl's love life, one _single time_ more, I am going to hurt you."

Evelyn flinched, but bravely soldiered on, Gryffindor to the core.

"I'm not _telling you_ this because I think you care about her choice of boyfriends. I am _telling you _because YOU told me make friends with her. YOU told me to watch her. YOU told me to report any suspicious behavior from her. And I _thought_ you would want to know that her boyfriend is dead."

"Dead?" Riddle said quietly, surprised, finally looking at Evelyn, his cold blue-gray eyes boring into her.

"Yes," Evelyn said, relief evident in her voice that Riddle was no longer threatening bodily harm, "he was a French wizard, and it sounds like Grindelwald or his followers might have killed him, but she didn't go into details."

"Dead," Riddle repeated, his expression faraway, "that explains a lot. Thank you for telling me this Evelyn."

"He was very handsome," Evelyn offered, thrilled at the praise of her Lord, "very handsome. I saw a picture," she added hastily, correctly interpreting why Riddle had opened his mouth. "In fact, he looks kind of similar to you."

Riddle's mouth twisted with distaste, but whether it was at the idea that Hermione Granger was attracted to wizards that looked like him, or that Evelyn had essentially just told him she thought he was handsome, she wasn't sure.

"Did she seem very upset about it all?" he asked, his tone indicating that he cared little about Hermione's feelings.

"Extremely," Evelyn hissed, as she eyed a group of Hufflepuff third years nearby, and then dragged Riddle further into a dark corner. "She was crying all over us. And in the picture, the two of them looked really happy together."

"Interesting," Riddle murmured, although he didn't share with her why he found this interesting. His eyes gleamed with a new enthusiasm. "Very interesting."

"Why is it interesting?" Evelyn asked somewhat hesitantly.

"Don't worry yourself about it," Riddle said condescendingly, a ghost of a sneer on his face. "You know I have my plans for her. Just keep trying to be her friend. Continue to tell me everything you learn about her that you think I would find useful."

"Of course To—Lord Voldemort," Evelyn corrected herself quickly. "Anything you want."  
And now, Riddle smirked at her in full. "_Anything, _Evelyn? I know you find me handsome," Evelyn blushed horribly, avoiding his cold, arrogant eyes, "but you really should be careful what you offer. I just might take you up on it."

Evelyn took a deep breath, and gathered her Gryffindor courage once more. "I wouldn't mind," she said boldly.

Riddle looked even more amused. "I know you wouldn't," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. And, to Evelyn's supreme mortification, he looked her once over, laughed derisively, and walked away without a backward glance or a goodbye.

Evelyn watched Riddle walk out of the library, almost running into a group of crazed tarts who attempted to waylay him, her mortification deepening. She would watch Hermione Granger for Tom Riddle. But she didn't like Riddle's sudden obsession with the new girl, no matter what he said about his lack of interest in her love life. She didn't like it one bit.

* * *

**Great Hall**

**7:57 P.M.**

Hermione stood in the Great Hall entryway, looking around nervously, both hoping and dreading that Riddle would show up first for their Ancient Runes group meeting. Hoping, because then she could put phase two of her plan into motion. Dreading, because then she could put phase two of her plan into motion. She needn't have worried however, as Brock the Hufflepuff came out of the corridor leading to the Hufflepuff common rooms, spotted her, and hurried over smiling.

"Granger!" he said genially, "been thinking of hiding spots for clues?"

"All day," she said somewhat untruthfully. She had been thinking of it during History of Magic, because Binns was delivering a lecture she had memorized fifty years later, but in Transfiguration this morning, with Dumbledore's keen observation of her behavior still unsettling her, she had had to concentrate intently on the lesson, and she had chosen to pay full attention in her last class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, as it was her weakest subject, and Professor Merrythought was an excellent teacher. "How about you?"

"I've got some ideas, but we should probably wait for…oi, Dorcas! Over here!" he called, waving his arm at Dorcas Meadowes who had appeared from eating a very late dinner.

"Just waiting on Riddle now?" she asked, smiling at Hermione, who smiled weakly back, feeling sick.

It would be very hard to forget what a monster Riddle was when she was being forced to work in a group with a girl she knew he would grow up to murder. _Just think of Ron and Harry and the others, _she instructed herself grimly.

"Odd that he's late," Dorcas said, frowning while she looked around for Riddle as the minutes ticked on, "he's usually so reliable."

Finally, the three of them spotted Riddle come hurrying their way from the direction of the library, looking uncharacteristically flushed.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly, looking apologetic. "I was held up by some…" he trailed off, seemingly embarrassed.

"Tarts?" Brock asked, with barely concealed laughter in his voice.

Riddle looked confused. "Oh, I wouldn't call them names, just some fifth year girls who insisted I help them with their Astronomy homework."

"Tarts," Dorcas repeated in a low voice to Hermione, with an eye-roll.

Hermione still had trouble believing Riddle was completely oblivious about his twittering, hormone-crazed fan club, but she kept silent on the subject.

"What's the plan for tonight?" Dorcas asked the group. "Should we tell each other our ideas for hiding our project clues and then go around the castle together?"

Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. _Phase two,_ she reminded herself grimly, _phase two._

"I think we should split up to look for hiding places," she suggested, "and since Rid…Tom and Dorcas are prefects, I think Brock should go with Dorcas, and I should go with Tom, just in case anyone wants to get angry at us for wandering around the castle."

Brock looked at Hermione knowingly, and she was reminded that he had referred to her as Riddle's girlfriend in front of the whole Ancient Runes class.

"Well, we can still be out of bed until nine, and it's only a quarter past eight," he said, "but I think that's a good idea. Cover more ground that way, and say, in an hour we meet here again, go over what we found…?"

"Works for me," Dorcas said, raising an eyebrow at Riddle, who had been very still and quiet throughout this conversation. "You and Tom can start in the dungeons, and Brock and I can start in the upper floors."

"Sure," Hermione agreed, as Riddle remained mute.

"See you in an hour or so," Brock said, and he and Dorcas strode off, the two of them shooting curious looks at Hermione and Riddle.

Riddle stood looking after them until they were out of sight, and when it was just he and Hermione in the entryway, he turned to her.

"I thought," he said quietly, "we were trying to defuse those ridiculous rumors."

She shrugged, and started walking towards the dungeons, slightly apprehensive that they would be stuck in the dark regions of the castle together. She touched her wand briefly in her robe pockets for assurance.

"I thought this was very, very, important to you," Riddle persisted when she didn't reply further.

"I decided I don't care what other people think," she said shortly, as they passed through the doors leading to the Slytherin common room and the rest of the dungeons.

"Since when?" Riddle asked, staring holes into Hermione's back.

"Since this morning."

"What caused this change of heart?" Riddle asked, not letting the subject drop, as they descended the staircase that Hermione had run down not so long ago to save the Slytherins from a massacre.

"Lots of things," she shrugged again.

"Like what?" Riddle demanded, his persistence starting to wear on her nerves as they passed into an extremely dingy corridor Hermione was not sure she had ever been down.

"Look," she said, suddenly stopping and wheeling about to face Riddle, who was forced to jump back a step so he wouldn't run into her. "I'm trying to apologize here, Riddle."

"Really?" he said, surprised. "For what?"

The dim lighting of the nearby flickering torches was doing frightening things to his genetically blessed bone structure, but Hermione didn't look away from him, even if she couldn't make out his expression in the semi-darkness.

"For being so rude to you," she said. "Especially when I really want is for us to be friends."

"Friends?" said Riddle slowly, as if he had never heard the word before. "I thought you couldn't stand me."

"I think I haven't given you a chance," Hermione responded truthfully, "and I usually don't do that."

Riddle stood there in silence, his expression still hidden in the lighting. Finally he responded, still speaking slowly, "I would like for us to be friends too, Hermione. I would like that very much."

"Good," Hermione said and she held out her hand to him, smiling bravely to mask her discomfort about being so close to Tom freaking Riddle in a dark corridor.

They shook hands, and now her eyes had adjusted enough to see that Riddle was smiling his convincing smile again, looking handsome and perfect and kind.

"I'm so glad this is behind us, Hermione," he said, "although I do hope you are prepared for the amount of whispering we are going to get for wandering off alone together in the dungeons for an hour."

"Let them talk," Hermione said indifferently, "see if I care."

Riddle laughed, and it wasn't anything like his high pitched Voldemort laugh.

"Sure your boyfriend won't mind?" Riddle casually asked, in a voice that was almost teasing as they began their journal further into the lesser used parts of the castle.

"Not at all," Hermione said, after a moment of hesitation, "he wouldn't have minded when he was alive. He wasn't the jealous type." This, of course, was an outright lie. Blaise would have been _extremely_ jealous. But he would have understood. He knew the reason he and Hermione had become close in the first place, and he wouldn't hold it against her for using the knowledge to defeat Voldemort.

She felt Riddle stop again next to her. "Your boyfriend…" he began, surprised, "I thought he was…you spoke of him as if he was alive."

"I…I guess it's because I wish he was," Hermione said, semi-accurately. She _did_ wish Blaise was alive to help her, to support her, but he wouldn't even be born for almost forty years.

"I'm so sorry," Riddle said finally, and he genuinely sounded as if he was. "I understand the pain of losing those close to you."

"Do you?" Hermione asked quietly, starting to walk again so she didn't have to look at him. He sounded very sad for her, but she knew it was just an act. But she also knew she would never become his friend if she internally raged at every lie she suspected he told.

"I was raised as an orphan, with no family," Riddle responded quietly. "And to be honest with you, I really had no friends at the orphanage. I believe the other orphans thought I was very strange, so they avoided me."

Hermione was reminded forcefully of Luna Lovegood, and used those kind feelings toward Luna to keep up her friendly act toward Riddle.

"I didn't really have friends as a child either," Hermione admitted, "the children at school thought I was a bit of a show-off."

"I thought your parents tutored you at home," Riddle said, a slight frown on his extremely handsome face.

Hermione inwardly cursed at herself, and also felt surprise that Riddle had apparently found out so much about her. "They did…" she said lamely, "after that disaster at a Muggle school. They sent me to one when I was very small for a cultural experience, and since I'm half Muggle and all, by my father."

"Me too," Riddle told her, "my father as well. I didn't have the best experience with Muggle children either."

Hermione remained silent, surprised at how much Riddle was opening up to her, whether for genuine reasons or not she didn't know. She certainly knew she didn't like where this conversation about Muggles was going, so she switched tracks.

"It must have been very difficult growing up never knowing your parents," she said kindly, "I at least had fifteen years with mine."

Riddle stopped again next to her, very close, staring at the floor with a slight furrow between his eyes.

"Do you want to know what the hardest part was?" he asked her in a low tone of voice.

"Yes," Hermione answered honestly, unknowingly stepping even closer in her eagerness to hear the answer.

"Knowing that neither of them wanted me," Riddle said, and he looked up into her eyes, his expression very sad, and very serious. "My mother was a witch, but she let herself die in childbirth. My father was alive, but he just left me there. He didn't give a damn about me."

Hermione looked at him, and for a moment, she pretended that this black-haired orphan was Harry, being raised by the horrible, vile Dursleys. But Harry had at least had a year with his parents. Riddle hadn't even had that. A surge of pity unexpectedly went through her, and she tentatively reached forward and patted Riddle slightly on the back.

"Well they were wrong, weren't they?" she said, her voice strong, "they were wrong to do that. You were worth fighting for."

Riddle stared at her, his expression unreadable, his eyes looking all over her face, judging her sincerity. "That's very kind of you to say," he said, his quite low in volume

"It's the truth," Hermione responded firmly.

He had been worth fighting for, as a baby. Now he wasn't though. He was only worth fighting with, and destroying. Unable to bear the way Riddle was looking at her, and finally realizing how close she was standing next to him in a dark, deserted corridor with her hand on his upper arm, she turned away quickly.

"Let's go this way to look for spots," she said, grateful that the dark corridor was hiding the bright spots in her cheeks and her trembling hands. The feeling of betrayal for being nice to the man who had killed Harry's parents, among many other evils, was bursting through her again.

"Alright," Riddle said quietly behind her, following.

The hour couldn't be over fast enough.

Tom watched the bushy hair of the girl in front of him disappearing around a corner, and his expression turned calculating as he thought of all he had just learned. So. She was willing to be nice to him if she felt sorry for him. He had been right this afternoon, when he realized how to deal with her in the library whilst talking to Evelyn. Just play on her Gryffindor sympathies, get closer to her….and convince her of the truth about Muggles and Muggleborns. She was very clever, and he was always looking for new recruits. Always. Especially clever recruits, who were good at magic. He walked after her, his mind whirling like an activated Sneakoscope. It would only be a matter of time before the poor, handsome orphan from Slytherin with the tragic past act was able to get under her skin, and then he would be able to delve into her mind, into her soul, and find out every little secret she was hiding from him.


	21. Hell Hath No Fury

**Chapter Twenty: Hell Hath No Fury…**

**Thursday, September 17****th****, 1943 **

**The Witching Hour**

The two bound girls were sprawled in the middle of the stone floor in the innermost section of the septagram, hands and feet tied behind their backs tightly. The smaller of the two girls, blonde and pale, was unconscious again, her mouth slightly open as she breathed unsteadily. The second, an auburn haired girl, was wide awake, her grey eyes darting around the hooded figures standing around, but unable to speak. The hooded figures watched the two girls and muttered amongst themselves, shifting from foot to foot, but holding no power to act. The male and female figure standing outside the circle were currently in the midst of yet another argument.

"I already told you," the female hissed, "what our lord wants done with them."

"And _I_ told _you_," the male hissed back, "that I think you are misinterpreting his orders."

"Impossible," the female snapped, "I understand him better than you do. He wants the girls disposed of."

"He said he wanted the situation dealt with, which is not _nearly_ the same thing," the male pointed out. "I think you are jumping to overly violent conclusions once again."

"How touching how much you love the vermin," the female sneered, "so compassionate of you to want them alive."

"That is not it at all," the male said, his voice beginning to rise. "I am getting very tired of you twisting everything I say on purpose. I just think we can do much more damage by keeping them alive."

At these words, the auburn haired girl craned her head in their direction, apparently overhearing these last words. A glimmer of a new emotion besides fear shone in her eyes.

"And I say we kill them and leave their corpses flayed and burned on the steps of Hogwarts," the female said, her voice also rising in her anger. "We must leave the boy a message. That is the whole point of this."

The auburn haired girl blanched, and curled into herself, in a futile effort to disappear from the room, from this situation, form her whole, suddenly horrifying life.

"Dead is bad," the male patiently, "dead is upsetting. But alive, and permanently maimed, to be reminded day after day of failure and pain and ruin… _that_ is truly wounding the boy."

The female considered this in silence, eyeing the motionless blonde girl and the terror stricken auburn haired girl. "I think you have a point," she said finally. "Any spells in mind?"

The male's smile was barely visible from beneath the hood. "I'd thought you would never ask."

* * *

**Thursday, September 17****th****, 1943 **

**Great Hall**

**7:52 A.M.**

The retaliation from spending an hour alone with Tom Riddle in the dungeons at night was swift and brutal. Tom's Tarts were, surprisingly, not the only culprits, and Hermione was, surprisingly, not the only target. She had just sat down to breakfast, between Marion and Alastor Moody, when the pitcher of pumpkin juice in front of them exploded in her face, soaking all three. Hermione only had time to reach for her napkin in an attempt to wipe pumpkin juice out of her eyes when the bench under her cracked, sprawling her on the floor.

Loud, raucous laughter was coming from many directions in the hall, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jane Landy, co-founder of Tom's Tarts, aka Venomous Eyes from the library, shrieked:

"Better not eat another tart Granger, with an arse that fat!"

Mean laughter followed as Hermione picked herself off the floor and muttered "Reparo" at the broken bench.

"Oh honestly," Marion snapped, glaring over at some of the laughing students. "The maturity level is astonishing."

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said wearily. She was having unpleasant Viktor Krum flashbacks again. "It's not like I haven't dealt with worse."

Marion shot her a curious look at this, and Marlene was just reaching over the table with her own napkin when the eggs exploded upwards as well, catapulting into Hermione's bushy hair and sticking there.

"Really!" Evelyn said, scandalized, "this is just getting ridic-"

Hermione was hit with a cry of "Capillus Adversus!" coming from the Hufflepuff table, just as the owl post started to swoop into the hall.

Immediately, her hair changed dramatically. She was sure this was meant to upset her, as the _Capillus Adversus_ hex made the unfortunate victim's hair turn into its opposite, and most girls spent time making their hair the way they wanted it. Most girls however, were not Hermione Granger, who could only be arsed to make her hair look nice when a Yule Ball rolled around, once every century or so. Consequently, the _Capillus Adversus_ was actually a significant improvement on Hermione's usual rat's nest mess of a hairstyle, as she now sported a rather fetching Fleur Delacour mane of white blonde straight hair.

"That is _quite enough_, Miss Sorenger! Ten points from Hufflepuff!" yelped Professor Flitwick as he hurried down the aisle between tables to chastise the offending member of Tom's Tarts.

"Anyone know how to fix this?" Hermione asked, unconcernedly buttering a piece of toast.

"Nah," shrugged Marlene. "Looks good on you anyway."

"Yeah, that was a real blow," snorted Wyatt Corsington from a few seats down the row. "Hufflepuffs."

Hermione was just lifting the toast to her mouth, egg still attached to her hair but now practically invisible in the white-blonde strands, pumpkin juice still on her face, but determined to show how much she did not care about the _Terrible Tart Onslaught of '43_ when another jinx went soaring at her back. Alastor Moody shoved her out of the way, getting a face full of the jinx and suddenly sprouting a ridiculous beard.

Moody felt his face briefly, then shrugged as well and returned to his bacon.

"Not really going for the jugular, are they?" said Marion dispassionately. "They seem to be just trying to make you ugly."

Hermione snorted, and took a bite of toast as the first owl landed in front of her.

"Oh…no…'Ermione, iz zat a…a…" Brigitte struggled for the word.

"_Howler_!" Richard Potter burst out from the other side of Wyatt Corsington. "Run for it, Granger!"

Hermione froze for a brief second before her knife and fork leapt off her plate and attempted to attack her, and four more Howlers landed in front of her, the owls all pushing each other with their wings to deliver the mail to Hermione first. With a yelp, Hermione pulled out her wand and repelled the knife as it lunged for her eyes and the fork as it soared toward her throat. Marion smashed Hermione's now rabid spoon with a copy of their History of Magic book, and Moody stomped on her snarling and fanged goblet.

"Get out of here!" Marlene yelled desperately at her, as she seized Hermione's growling plate and beat it repeatedly against the table.

Hermione, not wanting to give the Tart's satisfaction, wavered a moment more, and the first Howler exploded, shrieking insults about her looks and her sexual experience in the most venomous and shrill tones possible.

Simultaneously, the tray of éclairs exploded next, dousing Hermione, Marlene, Marion, Alastor, Evelyn, Brigitte, Wyatt, and Richard with cream and icing. The next Howler exploded, and accused Hermione of brewing love potions.

"For the love of Merlin, Granger!" Wyatt Corsington roared, "GET OUT OF HERE!"

Hermione jumped up, her ludicrous Fleur hair swaying alluringly, as another hex soared over her head and another Howler exploded. She grabbed her bag and ran, angry, cruel laughter ringing in her ears from all four tables, along with bellowed insults from Howlers and the bolder Tarts who thought the Howlers would hide their misbehavior from the professors.

As she sprinted out of the great hall, Hermione chanced a look at the Slytherin table, her curiosity getting the better of her. Riddle wasn't there. In fact, Riddle was sprinting out of the hall ahead of her, his own hair red and spiking crazily in all directions, three Howlers following him as well. The two of them ran out of the great hall, past the late arrivals who were yawning, and while Riddle paused for a moment, Hermione dashed ahead to the corridor leading the kitchens. The house elves. The house elves wouldn't judge her or hex her. After all, she hadn't mentioned S.P.E.W. to them… yet.

She ran down the corridor, past more yawning Hufflepuffs, and was just stretching her hand out to tickle the pear when she realized Riddle was beside her.

"Oh," she said, taken aback, getting a better look at him. It should probably be funny, the two of them were covered in various food substances, Howlers and owls were still following them, exploding with horrible insults that couldn't even be fully heard in the echoing and enclosed corridor, and their hair was absurd. But Riddle's hair didn't make her want to laugh, because Riddle's hair was Ron's shade of red, and Harry's special brand of sticking-out crazy. "Oh," she said again, tears prickling her eyes.

"Don't give them the satisfaction," Riddle gritted out to her through his teeth, and Hermione was startled to see that the mask had fully slipped, and Riddle looked angry. Riddle looked _very _angry. An older group of male Hufflepuffs wandered by, and laughed uproariously at the pair of them.

"Nice look, handsome!" one sneered at Riddle.

"Let's see if they all fancy you now, you stuck-up git!" roared another, as pumpkin juice gently dripped from Riddle's robes to the floor.

Riddle's eyes flashed, and his hands clenched and unclenched, but he remained silent.

"Looking good Granger," one of the boys said approvingly to Hermione, which was the stupidest thing anyone had said to her all morning, as she still had egg, éclair, and pumpkin juice all over her as well. It must be the Veela hair, she mused.

Another one of the boys eyed her in a disturbing manner.

"Why don't you ditch the orphan?" said a third boy, all three surprising Hermione with their un Hufflepuffish behavior. "Even his nonexistent Gringotts vault is looking better than him right now."

"_Fuck off_," Hermione snarled, shocking herself, the boys, and Riddle most of all. She wasn't even sure if nineteen forties slang encompassed 'fuck off' and she had a feeling if it did, girls didn't say it from the way they were looking at her. "I said _beat it_," she snapped when they didn't move. "I'd rather kiss an Acromantula than talk to you losers."

"How dare you—" the first boy started before Riddle found his voice.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff for inappropriate language," he snapped, feeling the sharp edges of his prefect badge. He glanced sideways at Hermione, looking somewhat regretful. "And ten points from Gryffindor for ah…abusive language."

The Hufflepuff boys glared, but clearly dared to go no further, and slouched off.

Hermione shot a dirty look at Riddle. "Thanks a lot, Tom," she said sourly. "Considering this is all your fault." And she tickled the pear, and yanked open the portrait when the handle appeared, practically leaping through the hole as the last Howler finally exploded, screaming at her that she was a ugly slut who deserved to die.

To her annoyance, Riddle followed her, still fuming.

"How, _how_ is this _my_ fault?" Riddle demanded, enraged. He then adopted a high pitched whine that sounded nothing like Hermione. "I decided I don't care what other people think, Tom!"

The house elves that had started eagerly bustling their way slowed down, looking apprehensive at the looks on Riddle and Hermione's faces, and the food products covering their faces and bodies.

"Let them talk! See if I care!" Riddle squealed in his fake Hermione voice. "Let's wander alone in the dungeons together for an hour! I think that's a great idea Tom!"

Hermione probably should have taken closer notice of the fact that Riddle's fake kind and concerned handsome orphan prefect act had been murdered, and was being danced on by his true jerk-off personality, but she was too angry to contemplate what it could mean.

"I am not the one with hordes of lunatics twittering at everything I do!" Hermione bellowed, stopping and rounding on Riddle, her time with Harry and his rage issues finally paying off. "I'm not the one who has jealous groupies sending someone Howlers and hexing them just because they are doing a school project together!"

The house elves, with the exception of one brave, small elf in her tea-towel, began slowly backing away from the clearly deranged teenage witch and wizard.

"It's not my fault!" Riddle shouted, "I don't even find you attractive!"

"Good!" Hermione roared, "Than we're on the same page!"

They stared at each other angrily, both breathing heavily, faces flushed unattractively, hair absurd, food covering their persons. Hermione took a moment to wonder if she had shocked Riddle by telling him she was possibly the only girl in the school not attracted to him. She was not even slightly surprised that he felt the same about her.

The brave house elf stepped forward, before they could start shouting again. "Is sir and miss wanting food?" she squeaked, wringing her hands together. "Kreegan can make you delicious food, sir and miss!"

Hermione looked at the house elf, her rage dissipating somewhat. "Thank you Kreegan," she said kindly, making a mental note to try to convert her to S.P.E.W. at the earliest opportunity. "I would love some breakfast."

Riddle exhaled loudly, his expression changing. "Yes thank you, Kreegan," he said, "our apologies for the yelling. We have been harassed by some of the other students over a misunderstanding this morning."

"Tom's Tarts, Mr. Riddle sir?" squeaked a male elf, shuffling his way over from the group of elves that had retreated.

"_What?_" Riddle said, astonished, "Why does everyone keep saying that? What is this constant nattering on about tarts, complete with smug looks?"

"I'll explain some other time," Hermione said wearily, regretting bitterly the shouting and her backwards mobility with Riddle, slumping into a chair at the table. And she had been doing so well making friends with him!

"Hermione…" Riddle began hesitantly, sitting across from her, his hair still spiking wildly, "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to say that about your…appearance. I didn't actually mean it, I was just angry."

"Oh, you meant it all right Riddle," Hermione said, as the house elves happily bustled over with a huge array of breakfast foods, "but I honestly do not care. I never thought you did find me attractive." She ran a hand through her egg-y Fleur hair, and added, "Although judging by those Hufflepuff's reactions, maybe the Veela hair will help."

"No," Riddle said instantly, "it doesn't suit you at all. It looks much better the other way. You don't care about your appearance. I like that." He seemed to be desperately trying to make up for his earlier blunder, but Hermione couldn't manage to suppress an eye-roll at his obvious lying.

"Kreegan is wondering why sir and miss are not eating?" the small house elf asked, her large almond shaped eyes looking worried. "Is there something else sir and miss would like?"

"Have you got any chocolate cake, Kreegan?" Hermione asked heavily, "Preferably as chocolate as possible."

Riddle shot her a look as Kreegan happily bustled away, assuring Hermione that she most surely did have the perfect chocolate cake.

"What?" Hermione asked, attempting to look dignified. "I think I deserve it after this morning."

As the most delectable chocolate cake she had ever seen floated her way, supported by three house elves due to its enormity, Hermione gave a moan of delight.

"That looks delicious, Kreegan," Hermione said gratefully, as a large slice was placed in front of her. "Do you want any, Tom?"

Riddle looked like he was wrestling with something painful and internal, a judgmental purse to his lips as he looked at Hermione devouring a chocolate cake for breakfast.

"Oh come on," she snorted, "I don't know what those Howlers were shouting at you, but I'd say you deserve some chocolate for breakfast as well."  
Riddle stared for a moment longer at the chocolate cake, still looking disapproving, than glanced up at Kreegan.

"Do you have any coconut cake?" he asked hopefully.

"Ralmy made a coconut cake this morning!" squeaked another elf excitedly, "Ralmy will bring it to you right now, young sir!"

"How delightful," murmured Riddle as the two of them tackled their cakes. "Where did you ever learn about this wonderful, sugar filled place, Hermione?"

Hermione froze temporarily, cake halfway to her mouth. "Brock," she improvised lamely, "told me it was near the Hufflepuff common room."

"Wonderful," Riddle said, looking around as the house elves beamed at him hugely. "Is this where you were hiding the other day?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, pushing a long lock of Veela hair out of her way. How Fleur could stand it….

"Oh," said Riddle, looking at her hair, "I forgot to fix that." He pulled out his wand, and it was Hermione's turn to look judgmental.

"That hex lasts two weeks Tom, you should know that."

"Not if you're me," Riddle shrugged, and waved his wand idly, fixing both of their hair. Hermione tried not to look impressed. He was already arrogant enough. "Much better," he said smiling, tugging at a lock of Hermione's bushy hair.

"I really wish you would stop that," she said thickly through chocolate cake. After a huge swallow, she clarified to the confused looking Riddle. "You don't find me attractive, I don't find you attractive, it's fine. _I do not care_. I cannot emphasize to you enough how much _I do not care."_

"But I _do_ find you attractive," Riddle said, sounded frustrated, "I just wanted to make you angry earlier. That's the only reason I said that."

"Liar," Hermione said, beginning to get amused. If only Harry could hear this. Lord Voldemort was frantically trying to convince Hermione Granger that he was attracted to her!

"Really," Riddle said to her earnestly, "I do! It was just the…the blonde hair…" he said, nose wrinkled. "It threw me off. You looked like a Malfoy. It was somewhat repulsive. You look much better now."

Hermione choked on bite of cake. "I thought you liked Igneus?" she said, surprised.

"I do! But the rest of them..." he made a face. "And they all look kind of inbred," he said in a hushed tone, looking scandalized at himself.

Hermione snorted.

"Because they _are_," Hermione said witheringly. "All pure-bloods are. That's why we half-bloods are much better looking," she smiled at Riddle, knowing her views on blood purity were probably annoying him, and knowing he could do nothing about it.

Riddle unfortunately, had taken her comments in another direction, and thought she was mocking him again. He frowned.

"How can I convince you I find you attractive?" he asked, seriously. "What can I do?"

Hermione froze, horrified. What was he playing at? The silence spiraled horribly.

"Help me get this egg out of my hair," she said finally.

Riddle cast another set of spells at the two of them, removing all traces of exploded food, and opened his mouth again, still looking at her seriously, before Hermione quickly cut him off.

"Why were they attacking you, anyway?" she asked, tackling her second slice of cake. "I thought they're all in love with you."

Riddle grimaced. "Well, first of all, the other Slytherins weren't too pleased with me. I had words with Patrick Black and Dougal Malfoy, along with that Parkinson oaf and Thaddeus Nott. They seem to think I am dishonoring Slytherin honor. More than I normally do by being a half-blood, of course," Riddle added, sounding somewhat bitter. "But I believe the Howlers were shouting something about 'how dare I choose a hideous Gryffindor know-it-all over them…" Riddle trailed off, and absentmindedly stole a bite off of Hermione's chocolate cake.

"Hey!"

"You offered!" Riddle said, sounding surprised. "Want some coconut?"

"Delicious," Hermione admitted, after she stole a bite of Riddle's cake.

"Mmmm," Riddle agreed, stealing another bite of hers. "Do you have any hot chocolate, Kreegan?" he asked politely.

"Yes sir, Mr. Riddle sir, right away!" the house elf said, looking adoringly at the pair of them. Apparently Hogwarts students didn't often interact with the house elves.

"I think we deserve more chocolate," Riddle said, faux seriously to Hermione and her raised brow.

"Couldn't agree with you more," she said, shoving yet more cake in her mouth.

"So," Riddle said slowly, "what are we going to do about all of this, Hermione? I can't see a way out of this tragedy."

"Pretend you're gay?" Hermione suggested.

"Pretend I'm happy?" Riddle said incredulously, "What exactly is that going to accomplish?"

"Oh," Hermione said, irritated at the cross generational slang problems, "I mean…pretend you like other boys."

She expected Riddle to look surprised or annoyed at this request, but he looked gloomy instead.

"Tried that," he said heavily, "last year. Igneus pretended to be my boyfriend. They refused to believe us. Also, I think it made some of them like me more. And…" he hesitated.

"And?" Hermione prompted.

"I stopped after three different boys asked me out to Hogsmeade," he muttered under his breath. "I mean…it was flattering," he said quickly, misinterpreting Hermione's expression, "but then Igneus decided as my fictional boyfriend that he had to defend my honor, and it started to get ugly."

"Well I have no idea what to do," Hermione admitted. "I had no clue they were quite so…rabid…or I would have thought twice about last night."

Riddle heaved a sigh. "We could ignore it, but the hexes might get worse."

"We could try to confront the rumors head on, but no one would believe us," Hermione added. "Or we could pretend we're dating, and I'll get killed."

"Or we could really date," Riddle suggested casually.

Hermione choked again, this time on her hot chocolate, scalding her throat. "Um…"

Riddle laughed, and Hermione joined in hesitantly.

"Well that leaves us one option," he said, looking at Hermione with a curious look in his eye that scared her more than a little.

"…_revenge._"

* * *

**Thursday, September 17****th****, 1943**

**Ravenclaw Seventh Year Boys Dormitory**

**9:00 A.M.**

Igneus Malfoy was lying in his bed, hangings spelled shut, staring dully up at the ceiling, seeing and hearing nothing. He had owled his parents. He had searched for clues where Audrey had disappeared. He had interrogated every prefect that had had been patrolling that night, and every teacher about what kind of magic could make two students disappear from Hogwarts. And now Igneus had nothing to do but lay there, accomplishing nothing. Helping his sister not at all, wherever she was.

"Igneus?" he heard Ralph Mullens ask from the other side of his curtains. "Are you coming to class?"

He took a moment to contemplate whether he had the energy to answer or not.

"No."

"Do you want anything?" Carl Lichfield asked him. "Anything to eat?"

"No."

"Do you want to talk?" Harold Pinkletter quiered.

"No."

"Your cousin Abraxas has sent you an owl," Ralph said quietly, "do you want to—"

"_No_."

"Are you sure you don't want—" Carl started to say, sounding desperate.

Igneus sat up in a hurry, and yanked his curtains open, revealing the fifteen worried faces of the other Ravenclaw seventh years.

"_Just leave me alone_!" he shouted, and the boys flinched, stunned at this shocking departure from jolly fun Igneus Malfoy's normal behavior.

Not feeling remotely guilty at their expressions, Igneus fell back into his bed, energy sapped. Tom. He needed to talk to Tom. But he didn't want to talk to Tom. He knew Tom was wrong. He knew the Malfoys were wrong, and he alone was right about blood purity. But his sister was missing, and he couldn't stop thinking about what Tom had said about Grindelwald.

_"…he hates pure-bloods, and most wizards in general… he wants to rule with the Muggles and only some wizards, and wipe out the rest…. 'Malfoy' and 'Black' are two well known pure-blood names…"_

Igneus _knew_ he was right about blood purity. He _knew _it. So why couldn't he stop thinking that Grindelwald was a blood traitor?

* * *

**Author's Note:** I really do enjoy reviews! Just thought you should know.


	22. Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

**Chapter Twenty-One: Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold**

**Thursday, September 17****th****, 1943**

**8:25 A.M.**

"Have you ever heard the Muggle phrase," Hermione said to Tom Riddle as they walked to Potions together, past caring about Tart retaliation, and stuffed full of cake, "that 'revenge is a dish best served cold?'"

"I have," Riddle said, as they darted past a homicidal group of Hufflepuff girls, ignoring their bleating cries of "Tom! _Tom!_ How _could you_ Tom!"

"Do you agree with its basic principle?" she said to him in an undertone as they made their way into the dungeons and Professor Bower's class.

They slunk into the room, their classmates turning their heads and whispering at them coming in together, and at their altered appearances. Hermione half-smiled at her Gryffindor friends who were still covered in éclair goo, and Alastor Moody, whose beard had grown longer. She ignored their raised eyebrows however, and sat next to Riddle. This conversation was too important to interrupt. The Slytherin Snob Squad sneered at them both, with the exception of Phobos Malfoy, who stared at them with a thoughtful expression.

Riddle waited until the chatter picked up again before replying.

"I do," he said cautiously.

"So I say we wait. That way we lull them into a false sense of security."

"We also need to discover who did it in the first place," Riddle said in barely a whisper, as Professor Bowers trilled her good mornings to them. "That shouldn't be too difficult, but it might take a few days. Maybe longer, depending on how well they covered their tracks."

Hermione placed a book in front of her face to better hide their conversation.

"And then we need to make a plan about our retaliation," she said, as the directions for one of the most potent love potions flashed on the board.

"I know a hex that will make the hexee cry every time they try to use a malicious spell," Riddle said to her so quietly he was barely moving his lips.

They copied the potions directions together in silence, before Hermione whispered back when she was sure Professor Bowers wasn't looking, "I know a hex that can make a person break out in spots that won't disappear. And we can spell them to say something like…like "Desperate" on them."

"Do you?" Riddle said, looking impressed. "I've never heard of that."

"Well, I made it up," Hermione said, as they stood up to gather toadstools from the cabinets. "Last year. It works really well."

Hermione was not paying attention to Riddle as he looked at her, but Evelyn Sanders and Marion Hinsley were. If they had heard Riddle say earlier that he was not attracted to Hermione, they would not have believed it based on his current expression.

"I'm…I'm surprised," he said finally, as they grabbed their ingredients and made their way back to their table, both of them ignoring the whispers and looks directed their way, "I thought you were the ultimate Gryffindor. Honor and chivalry and all that."

"I am most of the time," Hermione shrugged, as the noise in the classroom picked up a bit. "But if you think I don't know how to defend myself, and the people that I care about…"

Riddle stared at her, his expression unguarded but strange. "What…what other spells do you know?" he asked her, an odd longing tone in his voice.

"Loads," Hermione said, shooting him a sly look. "They're not going to know what's coming to them."

Riddle stared at her a moment longer, a small smile playing around his lips. Evelyn Sanders watched them, her eyes narrowed. Phobos Malfoy watched them, his expression calculating. Belinda Harper watched them, completely expressionless.

"I'm very glad we decided to be friends, Hermione," Riddle said finally. "I certainly wouldn't want you as my enemy."

Hermione laughed, and now Ethelinda Higgs and Dougal Malfoy looked over, whispering maliciously to each other. "You really wouldn't," Hermione said casually, trying to keep her face calm and amused as this ironic observation on Riddle's part.

They began mashing their beetles in silence, and most of the other members of the class lost interest in their interaction and focused on their potions, with the exception of Phobos Malfoy, who continued to sneak looks at them.

"Hermione," Riddle began after a few moments, as he fiddled with the temperature on their cauldron, "please don't take this the wrong way, but I think after potions today we should avoid each other in public."

"Oh I agree," Hermione responded casually, "that way suspicion can't fall on us when we enact our plan."

A burst of laughter came from Riddle before he quickly suppressed it, avoiding Professor Bower's rage. "Exactly," he said, sounding delighted, "I'm so glad you understand."

"Completely," Hermione agreed, dumping powdered snake fang in their cauldron, which hissed and turned a bright pink.

"I'll send you owls when I have updated information," Riddle muttered to her as Professor Bowers neared, "and we can meet in the kitchens again to plan if need be."

"Perfect," said Hermione, and smiled at him, somewhat deviously, "I'm planning on plotting after homework tonight."

"I've already thought of something for Jane Landy," said Riddle, his eyes intense on their potion, but a small, grim smile worming its way onto his handsome face. "I've been waiting to hex her for years now."

Hermione cackled a little, unable to contain her amusement at this unexpected change to their relationship. Unfortunately, Professor Bowers chose this moment to swoop over to their cauldron.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Riddle, as pleased as I am at the thought of two of my most gifted students procreating and creating little geniuses, I must ask that you keep your teenage mating rituals out of my class."

Riddle's amused expression froze, his eyes flashing something dangerous before quickly returning to his normal "everyone's favorite prefect" expression.

"Sorry Professor," Hermione said as the rest of the class laughed, some kindly, like Marlene and Brigitte, and some cruelly, like Ethelinda Higgs. She was so sick of getting laughed at, that she continued recklessly, her voice lowered so only Professor Bowers could hear. "But we were actually plotting our revenge for this morning."

Riddle kicked her under their desk on her leg, his expression warning.

Professor Bowers surprised them both by laughing. "Well I would hope so, after that display in the Great Hall. I wouldn't expect anything less from my brightest students. As long as nothing happens in my class, let's just pretend this conversation never happened."

"Already forgotten," Hermione said cheerfully, as Professor Bowers walked away laughing.

Riddle waited a beat, his right eyebrow raised, until they were in no danger of being overheard again. "I can't wait to see what you've come up with," he said quietly, stirring the potion counterclockwise, "I imagine it is going to be nastily creative."

"You imagine right."

* * *

**Friday, September 18****th****, 1943**

**Great Hall, Slytherin Table**

**8:20 A.M.**

"Belinda," Tom Riddle said to the tiny redheaded girl sitting next to him, "I've been meaning to ask you something."

He glanced around them for eavesdroppers, but as no one was sitting anywhere near them for fear of a repeat of yesterday's _Revenge of the Tarts: Explosion of Horror_ he could continue without worry.

"What's that, Tom?" she asked in an undertone, her mind preoccupied with whirling thoughts of Hermione Granger.

The two sixth year Slytherin prefects then proceeded to have the following conversation, which would have most likely confused anyone overhearing them anyway.

"Can you make a meeting Sunday night?"

"I made the last few more than you did," Belinda responded, resentful.

"Yes, but I'm going to be at this one," Riddle said patiently.

"Are you finally going to decide what to do with the girls?" Belinda asked, still cold.

"I've made up my mind, yes."

"Good. I'm sick of—"

"But I have another assignment for you," Riddle said in a rush, interrupting her.

"_Another_ one?" Belinda emphasized, playing with a link of sausage.

"I need you to investigate Hermione Granger," Riddle said, steadfastly refusing to even look over at the Gryffindor table.

"Obsessed, aren't you?" Belinda asked still more coldly, not looking at Tom. She was perhaps the only one who could get away talking to her Lord like this.

"_I am not obsessed_," Riddle hissed, sounding slightly as if he were speaking Parseltongue. "I merely want to find out what she is hiding."

"I thought you already had someone else investigating her for you," Belinda said after a long pause that clearly stated she did not believe his explanation in the slightest, but was unwilling to push the issue overtly.

"I don't," Riddle lied. "You know you are my best Knight. I trust you before all others."

"If you say so," Belinda said snidely. "I'll see what I can find."

"Thank you Belinda," Riddle said smoothly, "please report back to me as soon as you find something."

Neither of them noticed how Phobos Malfoy looked over at the pair of them and frowned. He looked back at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione Granger was laughing at something that idiot Corsington was saying, and then at the Ravenclaw table, at the empty spot where his cousin Igneus should be. His scowl deepened.

* * *

**A Series of Unfortunate Interludes in Which Hermione Granger's Lies are Exposed**

**September 21st, 1943**

**Fourth Floor Corridor**

**4:18 P.M.**

"Brock," Tom Riddle casually asked the Hufflepuff boy passing him the corridor on his way to Charms, "I was wondering if you could tell me how to get into the kitchens? I wanted to procure a birthday cake for Logan Parkinson's birthday."

"The kitchens?" Brock the Hufflepuff asked, confused. "Why would I know how to get into the kitchens?"

"Aren't they near your common room?" Riddle asked innocently.

"Are they? I really have no idea," Brock said, still confused. "Sorry I can't help you Riddle."

"That's perfectly fine," Tom said, smiling, "my mistake."

* * *

**September 30****th****, 1943**

**Library**

**10:05 P.M.**

"Are you quite sure," Marion Hinsley asked Madam Pince respectfully, "that this is the _only_ list of wizards who have died in France due to Grindelwald?"

"Positive," the librarian snapped, her tone slightly less hostile than it would be towards another student who was not Marion.

Marion paused a moment, and tapped her wand, rearranging the names alphabetically from first names, rather than last names. She looked past "Bastien," "Beaumont," and "Bernard," and frowned at the next name, "Christophe."

"And this list includes underage wizards? That is to say…student aged wizards are not excluded from this list?" Marion asked, still staring at the parchment.

"I believe I said this was a list of _all _wizards that had died in France due to the war," Madam Pince sniffed, "but if you don't believe me Miss Hinsley you can write to the French Ministry yourself. They might not respond to you as quickly as they did for me, seeing as you are an underaged student and I am a respected researcher with many friends in the French historical archives…but I am sure they would respond to you eventually."

"Oh, I'm sorry Madam Pince," Marion said soothingly, "I didn't mean to imply I could do something you couldn't. I'm sure every French wizard that died in the war is on this list."

* * *

**October 4****th****, 1943**

**Headmaster Dippet's Office**

**7:25 P.M.**

"What is you wanted to talk to me about, Miss Harper?" Professor Dippet asked in his reedy voice of the sixth-year Slytherin prefect.

"I am writing a paper for History of Magic, sir, about the amount of students sent letters to attend Hogwarts that don't attend, and I was wondering if I could have a look at the list of students down for attendance," Belinda asked sweetly.

"Well Miss Harper, you know that those records are confidential," Professor Dippet admonished her, his friendly tone undermining the actual words.

"Oh of course, Professor," Belinda said, widening her eyes innocently, "but I would never reveal any of the names in my paper, or to anyone else. It's all purely academic, all for my research paper."

"As long as you give me your word, Miss Harper, that you won't tell use this information outside of your paper, you may certainly see the list of potential Hogwarts students," Professor Dippet said kindly, rising from his chair.

"Thank you Headmaster for your generosity," Belinda said gratefully, as Dippet started moving piles of junk from his cabinets, shifting his belongings until he found the enchanted scroll and book.

Dippet placed the heavy book on the desk with a bang, and rifled through the pages.

"Where would you like to start, Miss Harper?"

"Let's start with nineteen thirty-eight," Belinda said, looking over Dippet's shoulder.

"Starting with your year?" Dippet said knowingly, "a good idea….ah, here we are!" he said, excited as they reached the correct page. "And here you are on the list, Miss Harper…and Miss Higgs…Miss Hinsley…"

He continued on listing her classmates, apparently forgetting about privacy, but Belinda was no longer listening. Her eyes had traveled upward, to the spot where "Hermione Granger" should be, and was conspicuously missing.

"Professor Dippet," she asked, interrupting his listing of her classmates, "every witch or wizard should be on this list, right? Every witch or wizard of my age, even if they were taught at home?"

"Yes my dear," he said, his voice reedy but sure, "every witch or wizard, as long as they were born in the Isles."

"Fascinating," Belinda replied, a gleam alight in her eyes.

* * *

**October 11****th****, 1943**

**Gryffindor Sixth Year Girls Dormitory**

**8:12 A.M.**

"Brigitte," Evelyn Sanders said to her quiet French roommate, "I am so sorry. I completely forgot to give you my condolences. Hermione's boyfriend…you must have known him as well. He must have gone to Beauxbatons with you. I'm very sorry for your loss as well."

Brigitte Laroque paused, her hairbrush sliding through the end of her blonde strands and her eyes meeting Evelyn's quizzically.

"What iz zat?" she asked hesitantly. "I do not…understand."

"Blaise," Evelyn said sweetly, and she pointed to the picture of Hermione's boyfriend over her headboard. "He was French, right? You must have known him. At Beauxbatons, before you left."

Brigitte looked at the photo closer, and looked back at Evelyn, flabbergasted. The last two girls left the dorm, leaving Evelyn and Brigitte alone.

"I am not…knowing 'im," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I 'ave not…seen 'im before."

"So he didn't go to Beauxbatons?" Evelyn asked, dropping her sweet tone now that the witnesses had disappeared. No would understand Brigitte even if she did blab about Evelyn's tone.

"No," Brigitte said, now frowning at Evelyn. She was not nearly as unintelligent as Evelyn thought. "Zat does not mean 'e iz not French student," she said, her tone severe. She liked Hermione, far more than a lot of the other Hogwarts students. Hermione was willing to talk to her, to help her with her English, and Hermione understood the pain of loss. She didn't like at all what Evelyn was insinuating.

"Where else would he go to school then?" Evelyn asked, her tone ruder still.

"At…'ome…like 'Ermione," Brigitte retorted at once.

"How odd then that they are both wearing uniforms in this picture, even though they are being taught at home," Evelyn retorted swiftly.

"No," Brigitte said stubbornly, turning her back to Evelyn and picking her hairbrush back up, "no odd."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes in irritation for a moment, then hitched her usual friendly expression back on her face.

"I supposed you're right," she said agreeably, picking up her schoolbooks, "it's not strange at all that they appear to be wearing Hogwarts uniforms with no ties. Not strange at all."

And she sailed out of the room, Brigitte looking after her with a worried expression.

* * *

**October 15****th****, 1943**

**Outside the Great Hall**

**12:15 PM**

"Hortense," Phobos Malfoy asked a small third year Ravenclaw girl, "may I speak with you a moment?"

Hortense Lockhart turned to the fearsome member of the Slytherin Snob Squad hesitantly, yanking her bag higher up on her shoulder.

"Oh hello um…Dougal?" she guessed hesitantly.

"Phobos," he drawled, his eyes amused and cold as she flinched.

"Sorry Phobos!" she practically squealed, "I'm really sorry! I didn't mean—"

"Are any of your relatives named Gilderoy?" he interrupted her in a rush, drawing her into a more deserted section of the entrance hall.

"Gilderoy?" she asked, baffled. "_Gilderoy_? What a weird name. No, no one I can think of."

"Maybe a pet?" he pressed, "or a nickname? Or a name for a hex? Anything. Anything you can think of related to the word 'Gilderoy.'"

"I really can't think of anything," Hortense said, looking extremely confused. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh," he said, smiling a little, which made him look even more intimidating, "just trying to crack a code for fun."

"Ooooh a code!" Hortense squealed, her Ravenclaw inquisitiveness overriding her fear of all things Slytherin Snob Squad. "What is it? Maybe I can help!"

Phobos hesitated a tiny moment, then said, "Okay. Maybe you can. It goes… 'Gilderoy Lockhart L.V.' and it ends with a question mark."

"Can you write it down?" Hortense asked eagerly, as her passing housemates looked at her in alarm for fraternizing with one of the villains of Hogwarts.

Phobos pulled out a scrap of parchment and jotted down what he and Dougal had read over the Gryffindor swot's shoulder in Care of Magical Creatures weeks ago.

"Do you know what L.V. is then?" Hortense asked, her eyes scanning the parchment over and over again.

"No," Phobos admitted, "I haven't—"

"PHOBOS!" a voice bellowed from the vicinity of the staircases, and the two students jumped, Hortense dropping her bag with a shriek.

Igneus Malfoy stood on the stairs, looking so un Igneus Malfoy-like it was shocking to behold. A month of worrying over his younger sister had left him drawn and gaunt, purple shadows blooming under his eyes, his hair lank and unkempt, and in dire need of a haircut. His pale complexion and fair coloring had crossed the line from "Nordic" to "sickly" and his robes were wrinkled and disheveled. None of that, however, compared to the look of fury written in every pore of his usually amiable face.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing harassing an innocent third year?" he hissed, his face flashing something close to rage.

Phobos was so shocked at the bizarre behavior of his generally irritating but happy cousin that he was momentarily speechless.

"Igneus, he's not bothering me!" Hortense said rather bravely. "We're just trying to solve a puzzle, want to see?" and she waved the parchment at the volatile Head Boy.

Igneus hesitated a moment, his face changing so rapidly from enraged to despairing that Phobos felt the stirrings of real alarm for his cousin's mental state.

"I'm sorry Phobos," he said hoarsely, and Phobos was horrified to see tears in Igneus's pale eyes, "I'm just not myself lately. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." With a visible effort, Igneus walked over to the pair of them and made a doomed stab at his usual demeanor. "What is this puzzle, Hortense?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart L.V.," Hortense said promptly, shoving the paper at Igneus, "but I have no idea who or what this 'Gilderoy' is, and Phobos and I are not sure what L.V. stands for either."

Igneus stared at the parchment, a crease between his eyebrows appearing, a faint scream of internal alarm that he could not understand ringing inside of him.

"L.V.?" he said slowly, "Why does that sound so familiar to me?"

"I don't know," Phobos replied, his forehead also creasing, his stomach churning inexplicably, "but I feel like I should know what it means as well."

Hortense Lockhart looked between the two cousins, and then burst out with, "Wow you two are sweating! Are you okay? That doesn't seem normal."

Phobos looked at his cousin, Igneus looked back at him, both of them utterly bewildered as to why they were each breaking out in a light sheen of stress induced sweat.

"Why—" Igneus started to say, but he was interrupted by a shrill scream from the Great Hall.

A girl ran into the hallway, snakes writhing Medusa like from her head, her skin striped Hufflepuff yellow and black. A Ravenclaw eagle was dive-bombing her face from above, and her bag, which was now red and gold was hopping after her, squawking "'In Gryffindor where dwell the brave of heart-' too bad you don't have a heart! No wonder you got stuck in Hufflepuff, Tart!" and alternating whacks to her backside as she ran, howling away from the trio in the hallway.

"Merlin's Beard," Phobos said, shocked, "what on Earth was that?"

"I think that was Jane Landy," Hortense said, her voice hushed.

Igneus stared after Jane, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Brilliant," he muttered under his breath, "you can't pinpoint which house attacked her. Oh, Tom…"

Phobos stared at Igneus in disbelief, a faint twinge of something in his brain tingling. Something to do with L.V…but he couldn't remember.

Why couldn't he remember?

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for your delightful reviews. Never doubt they are inspiring and very appreciated.


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